


Another Tale of Underground – Once Loved, Always Loved

by Hunter_of_Eridanus



Series: Another Tale of Underground [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Blood, Dueling notions, Eldritch, Epic, Female Chara, Female Frisk, Friendship, Gen, Old-Fashioned Language, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Resurrection, Spirit Guides, Theoretical world, True Pacifist Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 89,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunter_of_Eridanus/pseuds/Hunter_of_Eridanus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heard you about those stories, told galore,<br/>Of the lonely peak soaring from green shore?<br/>Wrapped by Legends fed with the fallen’ run,<br/>Fallen in hidden place that people shun,<br/>Where, it is said, it was confined earthbound<br/>The realm of monsters, the Underground.</p><p>Monsters! Bygone beliefs of history’s pall!<br/>Yet they emerged, under gust and rays of Sol,<br/>Revealing how true fairy tales indeed are,<br/>Hopes and Dreams aimed to this World afar.<br/>So Ebott lays emptied, of flowers fragrant,<br/>Save for one: the Underside King, Lord vagrant.</p><p>What use is a King for a folk, freed from threat?<br/>How could a dolent Queen forgive and forget?<br/>A last decree he issued, his wisest:<br/>Play a role played for centuries darkest,<br/>Of kingly robes clothed, on inlaid throne seated<br/>Till oblivion comes to reap he, of blood tainted.</p><p>Is this how all ends? Yet one elsewhere observes,<br/>Hovering through halls supreme, and ponders...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I – Halls long forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when a King, an odd ally and six opened sarcophagi met?
> 
> One answer is, with good reason, a journey of Redemption.
> 
> I welcome you in this atypical Undertale sequel where, for supernatural reasons, the fallen humans did not die (in the strict sense of the word). This is part of an ongoing saga which, by the way, is Asgore-centered in this first story only.
> 
> Frankly puzzled by how the fandom has become (as with all other fandoms unfortunately), my universe will take a rational and realistic approach (which doesn't mean it will be cold, detached, devoid of fun or whimsicalities). No cringey or cheesy things in short. 
> 
> This story will be a pilot attempt to expand and enrich the Undertale universe and the laws that govern it. I envision it will turn out quite long, complicated and all-encompassing, but I hope it will inspire some reflection nevertheless. Don't worry about understanding everything straight away, I know a lot of things will sound weird at first, but they will be explained better much much later.
> 
> And... let me put here some preliminaries:
> 
> • You should expect a few headcanon theories to make the story fluid and interesting. Be confident however, I’ll try to be as faithful as possible to the consistency of the setting.
> 
> • I assumed that there is a quite large temporal gap between the fall of the first human and the eighth (most monsters say they had never seen humans before).
> 
> • Being a somewhat fantasy world, I assumed that monsters’ way of counting years is different from what we are used to (201x is not 2010-2019).
> 
> • A key character of the story speaks with an English filled with archaisms. Bear with me.
> 
> • According to what I have in mind, Chara and Frisk are females throughout the entire arc.
> 
> • I warn you that the story will become quite dark and “eldritch” at the fourth from last chapter.
> 
> • There are links scattered along the story for some neat background music. Listen to them at your own desire.
> 
> • I strive for the absolute neutrality of the narrator, so I will not side with any character I’ll introduce. You can slag off the OC I introduced, no problem, but please do not jump to conclusions. Not everything is as it seems.
> 
> So then, you’re advised. Sorry for the wall of text, but better safe than sorry.
> 
> ;-)

[Undertale – An Ending](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3sJ79C1Zyo)

A timid breeze rose up from the chasm, messing up the dense blonde mane of the King deep in thought.

Asgore was there, intent on looking through the large windows of marble his bygone domain, covered under the vault of Mount Ebott. It became one of his favourite activities, in addition to water lovingly the Golden Flowers. His figure, once imposing and vigorous, now appeared emaciated, his head down looking at the depth of the crevices and the grandiose towers from his Throne Room.

His regal face was traversed by a smile.

_We used to call it peace..._

He turned to the carpet of Golden Flowers and there he walked, his feet raising pollen. Of their unchanging fragrance, he never grew tired.

Still, a small salty drop fell on one yellow petal.

His smile was anything but a smirk, symbol of a heart full of contrition, epitaph of a soul consumed by bitterness. Remorse left him no respite.

The Barrier was destroyed, the monsters enthusiastic came out to see with fresh eyes that new world out there, managing with difficulty but also with determination to gain acceptance among the humans, surely with suspicion but still presaging a bright future for all of them.

But not for him, who would not, and could not. However much time washed away the past, it returned to weigh on his shoulders. The love of his life showed yet no signs to approach him, his own attempts by now subsided, feeling ashamed even in trying. And whenever he tried to close his eyes, hoping for peace in a dream, he saw... saw those coffins, where naive humans rested inert.

Bitterly he decided to leave everything behind, taking leave certain that they would not miss him. Not even a month passed, since he sat down again on the throne, as the King of ruins and dust and nothingness, watering flowers, drinking tea, while wandering with his mind in fierce thoughts.

_It is already a week that I'm here, and yet it seems a century. Here, a King too great to not throw into despair his subjects, too weak to comfort the only person who really needed him, she who needed him the most in that ancient moment, and that seven other times he should have. Consort of a Queen with fostered sons and daughters, while he, reborn Orcus, waiting for them at the doorstep of his palace to devour their lives and grasp their souls._

He closed his eyes, and leaned over, breathing in the scent of those tenacious flowers.

 _Once before I saw how much violence the human race was capable of, killing bl_ o _odthirstily and tirelessly until closing us all inside the Barrier. Even if they took me away my heir, who innocently brought my daughter in the place she wanted to see at the end of her life, how could I justify my actions and their consequences?_

_For meting out my stupid revenge, I had to inflict upon seven poor human souls the same fate that befell on my children. And yet I feared the disproportionate power of one, let alone seven!_

_I am so glad Frisk showed me, at that very last breath, that humans are just as capable of love and tenderness. There is still hope for humankind and monsterkind to live side by side!_

_But as for me… it is still too late. Nothing will be the same again._

The stains of innocent blood on his hands he deemed intolerable, stubbornly jumped at his sight, despite his hands were whiter than pearls.

_Who said you have to be happy? Is it a right? If anything, it's a conquest. I had it one time, I let it slip away, and I let it happen. It is now lost, to never come back. For certain actions, there is no forgiveness._

"Asgore, the tragic King who chose exile."

The monarch winced, caught off guard. A powerful voice in the darkness, reverberating like wind, crept into his ears.

He turned his head to see where the voice seemingly came. But he found nothing.

He stood up, still looking around for the intruder, his hands on the trident. "Who goes there? Friend or Foe?"

"This hath importance only in the way how thou feelest about thyself."

His voice seemed to transpire no emotion, as if it itself was emptied of them. Like the voice of a soulless.

Asgore sharpened the view, only to greet shadows. "I am not in the mood for riddles, sire. Show yourself at once, so I can appreciate your intentions."

"Pray forgive me, answer this first: remain'd there in that heart of thine, a little of hope?"

"Hope you say? Hope for the welfare of others, or for my own condition? The former was largely satisfied, the latter is reduced to the ashes that seized my forgotten domain."

"Is this the ending thee wanted? So be it."

The voice was no more. Silence returned, lasting for endless minutes. The King was dumbfounded.

"You broke my loneliness, self-imposed with painful decision, and now you back away? Why delude myself with your words? Or are you just voices of my madness?"

Again, silence reigned.

Now exhausted, he sighed and leaned back his head in resignation. He put his hand on his chest, and prayed that everything would end instantly.

"I deal not with those who have given in to despair," the distant voice said, attracting the gaze of Asgore once more.

"Gosh, why? What do you want from me?"

"I am back to talk, for a gleam of hope leap'd, albeit 'tis a small tear in the depths of thy mortification."

"Please, just… do not torment me. Show yourself now or not deride me ever again!"

"At thy request, thy Royal Highness."

The unknown appeared, in spite of how Asgore imagined without the aid of hidden trapdoors or blinding flashes. He materialized in his sight, as if he had always been there, statuesque in front of the Throne Room gates.

[But the Earth refused to die – Undertale](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ML6OV8fG74w)

Light bounced on a white robe, it exalted golden embroidery and ornaments, and ended devoured by what lurked beneath that robe. Nothing but black air seemed to fill it, yet under the hood two fair white lamps darted like in a dark lair. A chain of beads girdled his side, and his ethereal hand held up a gnarled staff.

Asgore froze before the vision, hearing his own gasp echoing through the room, while inside of him fear and wonder collided violently with each other.

"Who are you?" the King eventually said.

"Neither human nor monster. I meander freely, now that the Barrier is no more."

"You surprise me, I don't have any memory of you…" He tried to stay calm and neutral, although his throat continued to gulp air. "Are you some kind of ghost? Certainly you can roam freely now, since nobody shall be sorry. No one lives here for some time now."

"Who am I, 'tis not important, for verily I am here for no one, but thee."

Asgore's heart beat wildly. He blinked, for he was not the first ghost he saw in his life, but he was different from any other. A strange feeling ran through him, as if something was crawling up his back.


	2. II – Breaths

Asgore could not utter a word.

And, on the other hand, neither the spirit did.

For long moments, the same astounding willpower that shied him away from the brink of madness, although unable to stop the wear and tear of his psyche for centuries, abandoned him. Alone, with that ghost.

And more strange than one could say, it seemed he needed it no longer.

An aura strange, pervasive and powerful heaved in front of the intangible, and a kind of presage, of something already lived before and therefore familiar, crossed his mind.

His breath slowed down, and his hands unhanded the trident.

"At the risk of repeating myself, who are you?" said the King, whose fear of impending disaster vanished behind him. "How can a being like you, arrived suddenly and with hidden face, calm my mind with just his sight?"

The spirit just looked away. If it were not for the lack of tone that permeated the echo of his voice, that hiss of wind that seemed his breathing, the King himself would have sworn that his light torches concealed the proudest and haughtiest of demeanors.

"Thou art still a King," the spirit spoke, in fairness stating the obvious. "Albeit fear and pain were thy companions for long, steady nerves became thy prerogative. Enjoyest a minimum of respect for thy person, I dare say."

Asgore grumbled his slight dudgeon to that statement, hardly managing to interpret if it were sarcasm or some friendly advice, while again dodging questions about his identity.

“Have you made some kind of spell rather? It seems at best a hallucination, complete with an antiquated way of speaking!” he said, not failing to include some peeve, still wanting to arouse a reaction.

"Is’t of paramount importance to know who I am whilst ignoring what I said?!" so he replied, sharp and brutal, thrusting his staff onto the floor with a terse and vibrating sound that struck the King, awaking him totally from his debilitating numbness. "'Tis not the time to yield to inaction! Thy life hath indeed much more to write and bear."

As poetic as it was his way of speaking in metaphors, Asgore frowned at that, since he was not in the right mood to listen to rhetorical speeches.

"What are you talking about? My life?” he said, his voice turning serious. “What else do you expect of me? I exhausted my mandate, and my every aspiration. The story is over, it's over for me."

"Dost thou really think that opening a door is the end?" the spirit answered to his apathy, now opening his arms, eyes radiating purpose. "Turnest thy gaze not to relics of the past, but to the light of dawn that awaiteth thee there, amidst the light of sun and moon, o'er the threshold of the crumbl'd Barrier."

As soon as he finished, another blow on the floor, stronger than the first, found its way through the depths of Asgore’s soul, shaking it to the core.

"Stop that! What do you hope to accomplish?!” the King, returned shattered, said, bitten in his certainties. “There can be no future. I caused too much pain and false hopes, it is only fair that I pay to the last ounce!"

"What other guilt thou art stain'd with, if rather should be blam'd the horrid circumstances in which heretofore thou hast found thyself? Thou wert ultimately wise and persevering. Thou charg'd thyself, despite the initial sin, with the weight of thine actions. And thou waited until the last moment the human who would prove thy wrong."

"And that wasn’t enough?! They succeeded where the King of a nation has failed! They brought them out to live, out of this dreary world of stone!"

"A world however abounding in light and color, always vibrant with the hope of its inhabitants, who learn'd to live in serenity, in the warmth of their families. Albeit a comforting lie, thou gavest them reason not to doubt and persist, even in the midst of purgatory. Extreme times require extreme sacrifices, and thou art a champion in this guise but lo! Pick thyself up, dust thyself off, stand tall head-on, there is still much to do. No one is without fault, yet any can be cleans'd."

"And tell me then,” – Asgore stood in all its height – “How could I ever heal sins so irremediable like the killing of innocent creatures whose only fault was falling in here?!”

"Betimes said! Countless secrets lie on Earth, and thy kingdom is not exempt. Thou hadst not the chance to know what the Barrier truly was and could do. Thus I say unto thee, thou canst still return to the joy thee long for, mend what thou committed, for there is still hope, there hath always been."

Asgore shook his head. "My hope is dead…"

"Nay, 'tis not. An opportunity to put things right existeth and I am delivering it to thee, now that the timeless limbo that trapp’d all of you hath been destroy'd."

"Why you persist on torture me with false hopes?!” he shouted in exasperation, realizing soon his was an unnecessary reaction.

His breathing loosened until it quieted.

But he looked away, as he found bothersome the very eyes of the ghost glancing at his own. 

“What else do you want from these spoils tired of life? I still do not know what stops me from putting an end to my miserable existence…"

He stabbed himself with his own words. That crown on his head suddenly weighed on it, unbearably. It forced his sight to look now the floor, with resignation.

Yet the spirit did not flinch. He did not hold back even then, as if he however wished to bear that burden with him.

"I persist, for there are still those who beseech thy loyalty. I know what gripeth thine heart, dipp’d of neglect and helplessness before inescapable fate, and therefore hearest them not when thou sittest on thy throne, while they clung tooth and nail to keep their breath. Thou canst not grasp who they are, for 'tis beyond thy power. There is still life in these places, suspended on the brink of death, so thou hast to listen to me, my King, and follow me."

This time Asgore did not open his mouth.

He felt faint, perhaps because of emotional stress, finding on his throne in fact his only support where to sit.

"Why…" – he finally said – "You tell me things that, despite centuries of inhuman efforts, uninterrupted research, ongoing regrets, just go beyond… beyond my reasoning.”

He dared to look again at those piercing living orbs, his breath taken away by restlessness and… a sense of newfound hope. Inexplicably, he felt that the languor that poisoned his life was like washed away, in the manner of a disruptive fresh water river on a dry mud wall.

Now he wanted more of it. He wanted to know.

“You remind me of the strange dreams I had as of late… Yet, if they relate to what you say, how do you know? How do you know all these things? No one, I am sure, lives here anymore."

"Agree to follow me, and I shall show those lingering presences to thee."

That was how the spirit took the first step. He swiftly went out the door, never taking his gaze off Asgore that, at first transfixed and reluctant, braced himself and, standing again and upright, walked timidly toward the doorsill.

The ghost guided him through the short corridor, taking a sharp turn to the left when the path forked, headed to a room the thought of which ripped Asgore's heart from his chest countless times.

The King stopped abruptly in front of the first step. "I cannot. Please, do not take me there."

"Thou must, thy Royal Highness. It befitteth for what I have to tell thee."

Those other, horrible thoughts, resurfaced. What most he detested spoke to him through their very cries.

"There’s only blood and rue beneath these stairs, a room that still exudes the memory of my despicable actions. You cannot ask that from me, spirit. I just cannot stand more of it."

The ears would not hear, not even his own trembling voice. However, the eyes were enough convinced when the white-robed presence ones fixed on them, audacious and almost reassuring.

"Come down, I said," his echo eventually intimated, trying to squeeze the King’s courage to come to light again, as his frail state of mind suffered defeat before the spirit’s resolution.

Strong enough to make him hear again, now in bafflement, the gnashing sound of his own teeth.

_I recognize this power. Clearly, that reminds me Determination..._

Like a relentless force that now urged him to come down, as he struggled with himself with uncertain step, each one of them a beat of a drum, the march in time of a firing squad that resonated in his head.

Breathing heavily, he felt heart-stricken as he reached the door that the awaiting spirit opened, going in first, just so that he could watch once more the monument to his sins.

But contrary to every expectation, a surreal view engulfed him.

The coffins, except the empty one of his daughter Chara, were all uncovered. The humans who had ventured into the Underground were still lying inside there, covered in bandages and surrounded by redolent leaves, laid on a bed of flowers, still fresh and vigorous.

"What's the meaning of this?! Why their coffins are open, who dared desecrate their bed?!" Asgore said aghast, almost yelling, at the limit of any tolerable endurance.

He turned soon to the spirit, facing him ready in battle stance. “Are you perchance the responsible for this?”

The other, however, remained impassive. His gaze aimed the King’s just to pierce it, in shape of beacons of blinding light. "How could thou claim me to be so low?”

The King this time realized the peak the spirit’s indignation could reach, but there was too much anger that was building up in his body, patience exhausted by dint of seeking explanations in that ambiguity that strayed up to unacceptable limits. "What are you trying to tell me? That they have opened themselves!?"

"I know what thou art thinking! Well enough, I open’d them myself, but ‘twas never for desecration, on the contrary! For grounds indeed so wonderful, that thou shouldst be very happy on the face of it!" the being said, reserving him another burst of indignation.

As soon as he saw that the confused King returned silent, just because of the enormity of such remark, he calmed the storm in his sentences. "King Asgore Dreemurr, learn to recognize who is amongst thy friends, not for appearance nor emotion, but by strength of deeds."

At that, Asgore stepped back, appalled. "But, why then? I...” he tried to say, bringing his hand to his forehead, sweating cold. The other interrupted him again.

“As I said, my King: thou shalt do well to hear what I have to say first, ere compromising everything.”

The King, at last, complied.

Asgore’s pupils contracted to normal, his tensed muscles, relaxed.

And although for the umpteenth time he could not hold his stare, his wildest imaginations paled to the most extraordinary of visions, soon to be clouded by tears, once upon the very bodies of the human children.

[Two Steps From Hell - Talia's Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5HPfNj4VMM)

Lifeless they seemed, but only apparently. A glimpse could appreciate how their chest inflated and deflated, rhythmically and slowly. A breath, albeit sleepy, but vital.

The spirit shed new light with his staff lit on top, illuminating their still living remains.

"The Barrier was erected to trap monsters. A prison for time and space themselves, separated from the outside world to abide by your very same fate of exile. However, humans have never been contemplated for this place. Albeit monsters can die and dissolve, the souls of men persist thanks to Determination, and thou knowest this.”

With hieratic slowness, he drew near to the center of the room, so that it could be plunged in light, fortifying the King’s hopes along with his sight.

“The Barrier's grasp was only for souls, all fortunes of their host were enchain'd to their outliving and demise, like a channeling medium to absorb magic and dust. Likewise, human bodies trapp'd in your prison were bound by their souls' fate, but what magic is there to take? Naught, but everlasting Determination, that preventeth their utmost annihilation.

"Albeit torn off from their soul, bodies cannot decay nor die, for Determination therein resideth immortal, holding such a treble bridge, come unbroken by the very Barrier, that through resonance sustain'd. Even if thy sight sayeth otherwise, before its laws they remain in a dormant state similar to death. This is the fate that befell on them."

"That’s insane! Impossible!” - Asgore finally found the strength to speak again, - "I saw them beaten, stabbed and torn! How can they survive all of this?!"

The more the spirit went ahead, the less the King could understand, or even logically accept.

"In such deathly sleep thou found them, and hast them plac’d, wiping their wounds and putting them in safe. Thus, even when in the brink of death, behind the Barrier theretofore its shattering, they regenerated. They had all the time in their endless sleep to heal every wound, expel any toxin, in the safeness of their sarcophagi."

He struggled to believe even a straw of it, he struggled to admit that he had been blind for so long. That all of that was a lie, the sweetest of lies.

To which he wanted to believe with all his might, up to suck it from the legs, until he fell to his knees.

The stranger touch of a handkerchief wiped away his tears.

The spirit took pity on him, helping him to stand up and sit on a wooden bench.

"Dost thou know the mythos of Cronos, god of time?” he said, close to Asgore, like a soothing whisper. “He ate his sons and daughters to keep control, but his youngest undermin'd him at the end of his reign, and he had to throw up them all. Albeit in his belly, they still breath'd and liv'd.

“Ah, what a coincidence then, when the last human with innocence chang'd the outcome! Humans, herein akin to gods, that now are eager to meet her as brothers and sisters, out of this jail of time. Yet, alas…”

“What… what do you mean by ‘yet’?!” Asgore interrupted him, the hand running on his disconcerted mouth.

“’Twas the jail of time indeed to keep them hale for sure, and as such haleness shan't last forever. Since the Barrier is broken, the timeline settl'd in its path. And with it, their lives. The bodies resum'd their naturalness and now breathe again, and shall die in their sleep."

"No, no, please!" Asgore tugged the hems of the spirit's garment. "Tell me that there is a chance to wake them up, I cannot fathom how would be seeing those children die again! I don't want to relive that nightmare!" Terrified, he feared no more to look up in that abyssal face.

"It shan't happen, if we act in time. I made sure they are supplied magically with fresh air and nurturing, while their slow'd metabolism let them survive quite yet nevertheless. Altogether and already they could have awaken'd, but they cannot, for they lack what maketh them whole: their soul."

“No! NO!” Asgore shook forcibly his head, the fingers through his hair, not caring anymore the crown that fell with a thud on the ground. “You speak of souls, spirit! But how can we ever recover them? By now they are dispersed!"

This time, the spirit dropped all subtleness, giving a light blow on Asgore’s forehead with his staff. The King cursed at the sudden pain, but at least regained self-consciousness.

"Now doest not panic! At the end of the last fallen human’s pilgrimage, the souls of all monsters have been releas'd, and eke the human ones after the breach in the Barrier. They still linger as tied to their body, if that is dead in unrest, or still liveth. In the commotion no one had thought of it, but I proceeded to what was in my power to relieve the bodies from upcoming fatigue and locate roughly the sites where the souls have travel'd, in places where they were detach'd from their abode, the place of their traumatic memory."

"So what should we do? Spirit, I thank you for heartening me, but help me if you please!"

"'Tis what I set out to do, support thee in the endeavor. Thus, lendest me thine ear. We have to do what thou no doubt art us'd to: find the souls and put them in containers to protect and carry them. Alas, those thou hadst with thee were shatter'd, so we have to find new ones.

"Once retriev’d, we shall come back here and assist their mending to the bodies. Forsooth, they cannot home with conventional methods, they must be help'd in the process by reinfusing them with the appropriate energy. I cannot do it alone, inasmuch I am a spirit, sure tangible, but incapable to mend a soul to a body, which resideth in the physical plane. Thou comest into play here, I need thy power for the time being."

Asgore just beamed. Beamed and turned anguish into unbridled joy. The forlorn hope come back knocking in his chest, while energy returned in full force, making him jump from happiness.

It was somehow too good to be true.

Slithering, a doubt came, and stopped him in his tracks.

_How does this spirit know all these things in the first place? What if his intentions are far from good? It would not be the first time someone tries to steal human souls in order to ascend to divinity…_

_But... I cannot risk to give up such an opportunity. Even if there is a remote possibility, I would do everything to save those little ones from certain doom and give them a new life to live._

He did his best to hide those grimaces of distrust, by quickly conjuring his weapon, planting it on the ground in a display of martial preparedness. "Spirit, it is decided. You have my arm and my trident."

An eerie calm seemed to conquer him.

_I have nothing to lose, but their breaths of life. I won't come betrayed or unprepared, if indeed there is hope for their salvation. I'll keep my eyes wide-open while in company of you._

_You may be highly trustworthy, I'll concede that, but to not trust is better…_

"I notice finally some resolution in thee, thy Royal Highness. Well then, let us proceed on our way and put an end to thy suffering, once and for all."

_And what we were just saying?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the status quo. Will redemption be achievable? Are their breaths a plausible phenomenon? 
> 
> A prospect full of hope indeed, and suspicion too.


	3. III – Sweet Inspiration

Aseptic air filled the lungs of Asgore, a metallic taste in the mouth. There was no noise in the CORE, aside the faint hum of flickering neon lamps, alternating in the roof like the bony prominences of a spine. They occasionally flared in sequence, fleeting flashes that impressed into sight the semblance of the stomach of a comb jellyfish. The only stable light was the glowing staff held high by the spirit, who led the expedition.

They had left one day ago New Home, stopping once to Asgore’s home without talking much, ransacking along the way some food in semi-emptied stores or some useful tool in the equipment rooms in case they needed them in the impending journey, which undoubtedly promised to be dangerous.

The CORE posed no obstacle at least. The path was quite straightforward, making them turn from time to time in the crossroads to find again their way. They walked suspended on metal and glass bridges over the depths, the darkness pierced by the electrical discharge of a short circuit.

Beyond the steel pipe bridge, the electric blue glow gave way to the yellow and now faint one of the MTT Resort, adjoining the CORE. There in its Inner Hall the fountain spouted water no more, and no breath of wind moved the still air. The resort was off, silent, lifeless.

"Hast thou manag’d to find something edible?" said the spirit, his tone inexpressive as always, seeing Asgore exiting the lounge pantry of the resort.

“Unfortunately there’s not much left, they took almost everything, apart…” – he said as he rummaged in a sack that he botched for the trip – “Some odd shaped steaks, bags of sodden dog salad, stale bread, and a couple of expired bags of croquet rolls."

The spirit let slip a chuckle. "I envy thee not in terms of culinary choices."

"Well thank you sire!" Asgore, resigned, put the sack on his back.

"And thou art welcome. Now, verily I bespeak thy providence: thou wouldst hardly expect a welcoming world up ahead, for many things chang’d in a matter of weeks. Our road shall continue thither in the Hotlands, where thou better prepare thyself for the looming hot spell."

"Isn't that a surprise? Well, I guess this is the right time to pay a visit to the laboratory of Dr. Alphys. I'm sure that some containment cylinders are still there, crammed somewhere.”

"And thence we shall head toward the pinnacle of Cair Megiddo, where one of the human souls resideth. Given the endurance of equipment and devices, it shall be complicated to achieve without getting burnt a little."

"I can stand it, no matter. I will consider it a liberating pain."

"That is remarkable of thee, howbeit I hope to find the best way to minimize the risk.”

Meanwhile speaking, they came to the forecourt outside the Resort, closing the doors behind them.

“Breathest a little more,” the spirit said to him. “When thou art ready, we shall cross the archway and dive through molten rock and fire."

Hands on his hips, Asgore adjusted his armor. “And off we go.”

* * *

[Undertale - CORE (Orchestral Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXvjtwWyFvc)

The a deux company was advancing swiftly along bridges of stone, surrounded by barren and desolate places, illuminated now and then by columns of lava that occasionally darted snappy as arrows toward the vault. The futuristic machines that once dotted the Hotlands were reduced to rust, although not even a month passed since the monsters moved away.

Rollers, pistons, gears, rotating belts... everything was still, stuck and fallen prey to wear and unbearable heat. It almost seemed that nature, freed at last from any foreign presence, was now trying to regain laboriously his justified freedom, and the intrusion of newcomers made it violent, hoping to drive them out instilling whenever it could the fear of the roaring elements.

But the two were altogether resolute in their step.

"It changed a lot since I've been here the last time. Heat became more and more audacious. For quite a long time I avoided the Hotlands, I’d rather enjoy the coolness of Snowdin, definitely more pleasant than this inferno of flames."

"The road is long and uphill in sooth, but anon we shall enjoy softer light."

Asgore shuddered and frowned, darting his eyes. He felt the embers sticking on his hair and beard, the stench of sulfur itched his nose. The roar of a distant explosion put him on alert, catching sight only of shook stalactites that inexorably collapsed into the floods. He saw his reign prey to zealous fury, awakening a proud and arcane memory that wedged in his mind.

He prefigured himself and his new traveling companion headed to a quest, with majestic nature facing them. All this for the great goal of saving the souls of six children. A chuckle escaped at that vision. "To see everything in this perspective reminds me of my youth, when I traveled the world above."

“May the thought of challenge be of use and toughen thee then.” For a moment, Asgore saw the eyes of his companion turning to him, bright yet somehow mellowed, before pointing to the road ahead of them with his staff. “Onward my King! It shan’t be easy even if the incurring threats are only inanimate.”

"Well, let's see if this old body of mine still has strength to spare." Asgore clapped his hands and rubbed them. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

They resumed their march, descending alongside rocky ridges, through road less traveled. In some stretches of the route, now that elevators were dysfunctional or fallen, Asgore could not help but go down with scavenged ropes and claws, the spirit levitating slowly as he eye-followed the King, guiding him into alcoves and handholds to cling to.

Although his armor encumbered him, he was still strong and vigorous enough to support his own weight, conceding himself a moment of rest when he landed on firm ground, catching his breath.

"Thou art still in full force, no doubt about it. We can avoid trespassing the mansion of spiders, there is nothing worthy of our attention there."

"Better for me, we would end only with me stumbling around!” He leant against his knees to get up from his spot. “On the other hand, I can see in the distance the laboratory. I guess I should expect even more broken ground."

The eyes of the spirit smiled, surprising Asgore when he realized he was breathing fresh air. A wink from the former was a sufficient answer. Relieved, he thanked him with a nod and went after him.

Adversity did nothing but increase. The spirit with the corner of the eye was well aware that his precious companion would not suffer lethal damage. The King jumped on high stone pillars above fiery chasms, slalomed to prevent falls of magma and lava fountains, broke old pipes with his trident and bent them to create makeshift bridges. A fireball was even close to explode the small arm of rock on which he was balancing himself.

Apart from some scorching, Asgore was satisfied of his efforts, the more so as they reached the doors of the laboratory. It stood blackened, smeared with ash and fiery lapilli against its structure. The doors were still working, thanks to UPS.

Asgore was perhaps the most eager of the two, the first to come forward. The creaking of doors sliding onto the metal plates ceased when they froze halfway, enough to let in the mighty monarch into the entrance room.

"Determin’d, eh?" the spirit added with an ironic tone, answered by the King’s laughing.

"Well, yes I am!"

* * *

The lab was to say the least dysfunctional. Moisture besieged the pale and sterile texture of the walls, enclosing it away from the searing heat outside. Footprints of soil and sludge, tattered and charred papers here and there, had hit the tile floor. The computer was in a permanent standby, and the surveillance screen froze in the screenshot of an empty room. A sense of total loss hovered all around, while the two were busy digging in the rooms, looking for some containment cylinder.

Asgore overturned tables and emptied chests, while the spirit opened cabinets and drawers large and small, in vain. They even ventured upstairs, not to find nothing but posters and dusty videotapes.

"Found anything?"

"Naught, thy Royal Highness."

"It's almost too strange, I am sure there are some other containers around here. Dr. Alphys was working on a way to open the Barrier by experimenting with the souls of the humans. But I did find no machinery for similar procedures."

"We are confident that we have look’d everywhere?"

"Honestly, I'm not so sure now."

The spirit lingered a moment, then directed his gaze elsewhere, pointing to Asgore a door beneath the stairs. "Hast thou look’d thereunder?"

"That’s a closet, I've already tried."

"Let us investigate further. There is more there than meeteth the eye, methinks."

Asgore shrugged, and albeit reluctantly he followed the spirit, going inside the unnamed room. Inside, a semi-hidden panel caught the attention of the spirit that moved away the junk in front of it. Asgore rubbed his beard, and went straight up to it.

"Are they energy counters perchance?" the spirit said.

"I cannot tell. It looks more like a button panel…”

Asgore started to push them one at a time, sequentially, randomly, but nothing was happening. The spirit leaned his head expectantly, yet he seemed somewhat worried. "In the event that we fail to retrieve the containers, our plan shall suffer a prematurely end."

As soon as he finished speaking, the touch of a finger on one of the many buttons shook the room. Asgore had the distinct feeling of being lighter, as pushed upwards. As if, it was…

"An elevator! I knew it!"

"Huzza! I take back what I said."

Finally, things seemed to be going right. The descent proceeded smoothly and quiet for several minutes. There was just a small jump, and the doors opened. The vision that greeted them was anything but serene though.

[Undertale - Here We Are](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y49b8aiQVBg)

Asgore received like a punch in the stomach the frowsy stench of rancid matter, while drops of greenish water ran down the walls. "What kind of place is this?!"

"Without fail, where experiments took place."

"Oh my gosh, it's unbearable!"

"Hold thy breath. If we bear up, we shall come out ere long."

"The one who doesn’t need to breathe is talking! Yuck." The gaggling came strongly in the mouth, but Asgore endured.

“Come now, a little optimism!” The spirit gave him a pat on the back and dipped his head in an air bubble. “Here, this shall bring thee air awhile."

Eventually the two made arrangements and started to explore the place. A faint glow of unknown source illuminated how little it could the dirty green walls of the laboratory. Several cracks outlined them, and a light mist invaded everywhere.

The rooms that they encountered so far were wide open, with broken beds, sinks clogged and full of slime, refrigerators that gave off a terrible reek, and inevitably wilted golden flowers. Yet apart those things, they were totally empty.

Approaching the closed inner rooms, however, a continuous noise of beaten pipes became more and more intense and, placing his ear to one of the doors, Asgore heard persistent sizzle and gurgling sounds.

"Thou dost not seem very sure to continue," the spirit said, noting that beads of sweat rolled down from the front of the King, more pale than usual and googly eyed.

"NO! I mean, yes, I say we must go on! Um... do I have to open the door then?"

"We ought to start somewhere, are not we?"

"How I wish to start somewhere else!” Asgore grabbed the handle. “I just hope not to regret it."

And with one click, it burst open.

What came out was anything but alive: the door freed the liquid accumulated by time, probably sludge diluted with the water of a leaking drain across the room. With wide eyes and making faces, having to walk into that quagmire, Asgore held yet another retching and made his way inside. The spirit kindled more the staff on its top, and brandishing it like a torch tried to shed more light.

The sight was so revolting that Asgore swore that he would not sleep for weeks.

Each furnishings was thrown to the ground or blatantly shattered, the equipment was rotten and definitely unusable, old manuals and semi-digested books floated around a white indefinite mass that occupied half the room.

"Well, I am going out," Asgore finally said with absolute neutrality.

"Waitest for me outside, I shall look on thy part.”

He materialized a white towel and handed it to him. “Givest thyself a cleanup."

* * *

Asgore was sitting on a fallen doorframe, wiping drops of sweat and more or less pristine water leaked from a bent but still functional sink, located in the first less smelly room he could find. A moving glimmer startled him, calming him down only when he ascertained that it was the mantle of the spirit. He gave a cough and got up.

“It was an amalgamate, right?"

"Methinks so."

"I thought they had all been released... What was doing this one here?"

"Mayhap ‘twas already long dead from struggle. It seemeth that shall need time to dissolve, supposedly too much Determination hath been infus’d. I clean’d it as best I could and wrapp’d with dry leaves scatter’d around, attempting an embalmment. I shall bury it."

"That’s quite noble of you. Oh, um… It wasn’t meant to be offensive."

"No offence taken. Apropos, I have not found anything useful, apart from a soil’d panel showing the layout of the laboratory. With a little elbow grease it may lead us to a store room."

"That’s a relief, at least we have a lead."

They gave a wash to the panel with the sink, not wanting to even touch whatever was stuck on it. With a roughly map in their hands, they made their way to the biggest room in the surrounding area.

Walking around every corner, they remained on alert for any amalgamate still residing there, although Asgore was sure they were all out with their families, that other victim aside. In fact, other than some drops resounding on puddles, the place was deathly calm. They were practically the only intruders in the quiet of the laboratory.

Following step by step the map they oriented themselves finally, recognizing individual rooms. However, the spirit stopped halfway, then followed with his finger the way on the map and... counted the doors.

"There is an extra door," he said, turning around Asgore that otherwise would have continued unabated along the way. "Huh, what?"

"There is an extra door. This one."

Asgore backtracked. "Are you sure? The panel, whatever we want it, is broken and scratched, maybe you haven’t see that on the map.”

“On the contrary, ‘tis one of the few untouch’d spots. I am sure this door is not on the map.”

“Then this is becoming more and more phantasmagoric. Should not we rather go on?"

"My King, I shan’t lie to thee... I have a feeling that there is someone beyond that door... and at the same time there is no one. I cannot determine that well. Now I am curious."

"You mean you are going inside? I just don’t want any more bad surprises."

"Fear not, I shall be the only one to enter."

The spirit with all the naturalness of the world turned the knob and opened the door. He sneaked into what appeared just another empty closet.

Asgore stuck his head out of the door. "So? There’s no one there. This place sure give hallucinations."

The spirit gazed carefully. "Waitest just a moment."

There was a sudden vibration in the air in the middle of the room, but nothing else. The spirit came out, a nuance of satisfaction shone through his eyes. "Well, that is enough. I am looking forward to come back here again someday."

"Fine. Forgive my restlessness, but I fear for the safety of those little children."

"I understand very well. Let us proceed to the store room and get hereout."

Steadfast and both determined, they turned around the last corner of the corridor and reached the big room that, as expected, was a depot. In all probability, it was the only room free of various fluids, enough tidy to allow them a swift search.

The division of tasks sped things, as they spread out roughly to the two floors of the room. That was a quite great archive, far too big for Alphys so that she could bring it all on the surface. Skipping the labels of boxes a bit too small to contain what he was looking for, Asgore searched in between the shelves thoroughly. He lost count of how many boxes he uncovered until he discovered, bundled under various sheaved paperwork, a bunch of metal chests reinforced with large bolts. It took him a moment to unlock them, shouting for joy when he pulled out the thin, lightweight and tapered cylinders.

"Found them! Thank goodness, the search is over!"

The spirit rushed up to his call, leaning on the recovered treasure. "Marry, this also gladdeneth me! Make haste now, let us take an excess of them just in case and slip away, this place starteth to weigh on me."

"And if you say so I cannot agree more!"

* * *

[Undertale OST: 051 - Another Medium](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xLsuam9o9BA)

The heat outside had never been so enjoyable, beyond the walls of the laboratory. The elevator ran out of its autonomy with that last climb, and died permanently.

They took with them the unfortunate amalgamate, and buried it near the laboratory. Once payed their last respect, they set again on their march, heading north towards the infamous Cair Megiddo, sack on shoulder and containers now safe.

"What a horrible experience! I’m sorry about Alphys, but explanations are in order once we get out of here!"

“Be thou not too harsh, the amalgamate condition was far beyond her control. Commendable was her attempt, albeit fell into such sad outcomes.”

"Well, I hadn’t the intention to be hard on her…" he muttered, kicking pebbles down the scarp. “I know well that kind of feeling, you know.”

“Forsooth! What really is important is to talk and sort out the doubts. On the other hand, that hath made thee desire again the skies of the world above, I see."

"Ah, you can count on it!" Asgore let out a deserved heartily guffaw.

Still a long way to go, they kept to the path as long as it became uneven once again, dragging themselves upon other cliffs and descending steeper walls, while more or less big chunks of rock collapsed on the parts eroded by lava. That landscape soon grew monotonous, until they arrived to far, secluded places untouched by technology.

The ridges turned to towering fiords as the lava dug deep, the latter cooling inside some ravines that entrapped it, where it created wide floors of black obsidian. Stuck in some basins, far away from the source of heat, it generated colorful crystals of aquamarine, agate, beryl, peridot, topaz, ruby and zircon, the reflecting psychedelic light of which transformed the environment, making it exotic and variant. Asgore could not help picking up a fragment of chiastolite, rolling it inside his hands and keeping it as a good luck charm.

They quickened the pace, taking advantage of the natural passages of riddled crags, dangerously approaching pebble shores budged by convective motion, stopping abruptly to a dirt patch abutted against the lake of fire where alone stood the obelisk of rock and iron, Cair Megiddo.

"Thither went the soul of the human," said the spirit, while Asgore shielded the view with his hands like a pair of binoculars, so to appreciate the contours of the obelisk.

"I have memory of this place. The human was fleeing from the royal guards, who chased him up there… I can only fathom how much each one of them had to endure, children frightened and hunted down. Of course some monsters have a very bad reputation in fairy tales."

"Alas ‘tis true, but despair not. We are giving them another chance."

[Final Fantasy IX - Gulug Volcano remix](https://youtu.be/5SdyBxoMNmw?t=3s)

Asgore nodded, and renewed fire kindled in his gaze. "We must find a way to reach the obelisk. I have not seen any aircraft in here, so… how can we arrive there? Maybe we can try to build some kind of metal raft, but we do not have the time for it.”

"Who said we must sail asea? Come, I shall carry thee."

Asgore felt lifted up with easiness as the spirit raised his hand, guiding his body on his own shoulders.

“Whoa! What are you doing?!”

They took off like birds, over the sea of lava. “We fly of course.”

Asgore held tight. Strange to say the back of the spirit was solid and sturdy.

Not at all hampered in his flight, the spirit proceeded non-stop towards Cair Megiddo, rerouting when needed to avoid the suddenly exploding pillars of lava that otherwise would have swamped them.

“Sorry if I hinder your movements,” Asgore said in a small voice, shuddering at the gusts of hot air threatening to unbalance him.

“Dost not worry, ‘tis just a little embarrassing, but having no other choice I can comply.”

He held his breath when they rose even more, up to take a glimpse of the top of the obelisk, where laid the wreckage of a jetpack. Shards, fragments and unusual weapons dotted the ground, and a lump to the heart occurred to the monarch. There he saw with his own eyes, a soft, radiant glow of green hope.

"Thence we came, rebeholding the soul of kindness."

"Now that I see it, my heart bleeds. Look how far he went, a courage equal to his kindness!"

"’Tis not the time for sentimentalisms King Asgore! Now, takest out the container and hope to be precise, we must not let him go!"

"Um, sure!" Immediately his hand picked from the pockets inside the sack one of the containers and uncapped it.

"Now then, thou shalt gather him like a net upon a butterfly."

"I know, golly! But a bit of consideration towards him, please!"

The soul meanwhile was totally unaware of what was going on and did not move.

Asgore, holding his breath so as not to make any noise, paid no attention to the fine dust that made its way into his nostrils. For a change, he did the most spontaneous thing that could come at such time: sneezing.

The roar beat down with power, and the soul quivered rashly. Soon it flew fast, outdistancing them.

"Beshrew."

"Damn it! Why it had to happen right now?!” Asgore clenched his fists on the spirit’s shoulders. “Don’t just stand here, go after him!"

"But with great pleasure, steady thyself!"

The spirit swooped down, surprising Asgore that instinctively surrounded the cylinder with his arm.

Within seconds they reached the ledge, an hairbreadth away from the soul that plunged headlong, fluttering rapid and skirting concentrically the sides of Cair Megiddo.

The chase was frantic: almost scratching on the rock, releasing scarce sparks from the pauldrons of Asgore, the spirit tailgated the soul enough to an arm reach, but whenever the King tried to bottle the soul, that just slipped away and only with rash turns they could gain ground again.

"Please, stop! I didn’t mean to scare you!" Asgore called the soul loudly, but as a response it went straight on.

“He doth not seem very receptive right now!” the spirit shouted in his ear. “I shall flank him on the left, keepest straight the cylinder! We shall pick him with speed!"

“Understood!”

On the contrary, as though the soul too grasped their intentions, it rushed down, zigzagging among the rock peaks at the base of the obelisk. It was clear that between pursued and pursuer there was quite a difference of size, proving detrimental to the latter who had a hard time not going to crash at every step. Meanwhile even the lake of fire reawaked, fountains splashing upward in a threatening manner.

“Golly! Things get complicated, we risk losing our thrust!”

"Ah! No narrowness shall detain me!" The spirit increased exponentially his speed, darting between the peaks, pulverizing with white bolts what hindered him, opening up a gap.

Asgore hanged on, remained focused as much as he could, but something else peremptorily caught his attention.

He cried out in astonishment when he saw the center of the lake deflating in a huge depression, then inflating in a bubble. The tension of the lava inside against the colder magma outside broke in a burst, releasing roaring waves that crashed against the small islands all around.

A tidal wave of molten rock loomed gushing, soon to be poured over their heads.

“Either all or naught!” said the spirit that with a sudden nosedive managed to get close to the human soul, up to see it.

To their surprise, it stood still, likely paralyzed. Even if blind, it was mesmerized before the sublimity of impending defeat.

The two could not give themselves the luxury of lingering in that moment, but took advantage of the situation to push the soul inside the cylinder. Asgore felt secure only when he heard the loud clang of the cap that, with a puff of steam, hermetically sealed it. “Got him! Now let’s get out of here!”

“Holdest on me, thou shalt hear some unpleasant vibrations.”

The spirit changed suddenly his trajectory, rising again in a hurry and dodging the majestic wave directed at them. A smack of lava sanded the side of Cair Megiddo, deluging the theater of their pursuit, releasing a blast of heat that startled their clothes. Fortunately now at a safe distance, they flitted to whence they came, the technological world of the Hotlands.

However, another depression formed just below them, and swelled.

"Oh gosh no, can you see that? We’ll end engulfed!"

"Hush thy mind my Lord, and close thine eyes."

The bubble burst with a column of lava, shooting upward like a bullet. But before Asgore could understand what was happening, the spirit threw from his hands a spear of a deep blue, which collided with the pillar of fire transmuting it in ice and frost, stopping it instantly. The pillar fell plummeting, giving enough time to the two to leave, before reacting with the lake below in a new, powerful, explosion.

 

Franco – Cair Megiddo, Hotlands, 548x


	4. IV – Firm Disposition

"Thy Royal Highness? King Asgore? We are safe, wakest up."

The spirit made an effort to reawake him shaking his shoulder, but Asgore still did not come entirely to his senses after the shock. He stood there, sitting on Alphys mattress, wide-eyed. Subconsciously thanked the fact that something soft was still there by rubbing the fabric with his hands, breathing slowly the moist coolness of the laboratory.

The spirit gently tapped two fingers on Asgore’s forehead. “Sayest something at least!”

He finally blinked, re-accustoming the view. "That was… amazing! Woo-Hoo!”

“Thou answer’d quickly.”

Asgore jumped up, grabbing the arms of his companion. “I’ve never seen anything so prodigious! How did you do that?!”

"Well… the fell omen drew nigh enough to suggest no other alternative…" said the other, between surprise and embarrassment.

"You were great!"

"Gramercy, but I prithee to collect thyself, thou art far too excited!"

The spirit made him sit back again, still trembling due to all the adrenaline in body. "We are about to pass through the gates of Waterfall whereupon we shall rest because, if we keep this gait, thou shalt most likely swoon."

Asgore nodded, and inexorably fell backwards on the soft. He remained vigilant, squinting his eyes, but he found it hard to get up. The overwhelming emotions would not allow him to keep his balance. The scorching heat of the Hotlands, the anomalous underground laboratory, fierce coasts of fiery lakes, sudden flights… and above all one of the souls back with him.

“For once there is something that pushes me to keep going, and this time it is not pretending to be strong to give hope to others.” He giggled. “Who would have thought that I, alone with my despair, would see another genuine reason to put my heart into?”

“Indeed, alone…” there was hesitation in the spirit’s voice, but his eyes betrayed contentment. “Howbeit, be proud! For not all monsters can withstand such ordeal with such hardihood. Come now, holdest steady for yet another stretch, for the gates are hereby.”

Asgore smiled spontaneously, resolve did the rest with his legs. He got up, held tight the sack with the precious soul and, accompanied by the spirit, exited the lab again, leaving behind the memory of dozens experiments aimed at their liberation, all failures before the Determination of a single human being.

* * *

[Relaxing Celtic Music - Autumn Forest](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2qOllkxwiw)

The fire blazed lively in their field of fortune. Small sparks flew merrily, the sound of wood crackling reassured Asgore. That kind of heat was definitely nice there.

The spirit was sitting, staff resting on his shoulder, feeding the flames with air magic, while the King threw some more chunks of wood, heating a scorched saucepan with steaks inside, sizzling hypnotically. He cleared his throat, which he felt dry after crossing the Hotlands, but already glad in breathing the fresh damp air of Waterfall.

"Why are you helping me anyway?" he said then, averting his intent gaze towards his companion.

The spirit looked up momentarily, and lowered the head again. "Spirit of preservation."

Asgore gave a chortle, but soon returned serious. “You should reserve this kind of pun with someone else I know,” – the King said, a sour taste in the mouth – “But I do not think this is actually the reason."

"For in sooth, ‘tis hard to explain.” The spirit drew his hand from the fire, which already was crackling enough. “A hidden feeling that I cannot enounce with words moveth me. However, one compelling reason might be, methinks, prevent thee to consume thyself for reasons whereto finally put a remedy on. I would certainly not forgive myself not trying to haul thee away from the abyss thou chose to live. Especially now that lambs are in betwixt."

The monarch looked astonished into the voided hood. His slightly clenched teeth relaxed to a genuine smile, easing the tension. "It would be one of the few times where someone is not motivated by purely selfish motives."

"Why would I have such reasons? What else more power could give?"

"I've wondered that myself too..."

There was silence. This time was not of embarrassment, there was a tenuous complicity now, but something still held back the soul of the King. Truly, it was a spirit of preservation.

"Without a doubt,” – the spirit interrupted his thoughts – “One should have serious concerns about the intentions of his traveling companion, arriv’d from nowhere and known by not even a week. I cry thy mercy, for mine utmost motives shan’t be reveal’d till the end, but I want to plead my cause, for I am not unaware of thy puzzlement. Anyone would be thus, in thy position."

The King bowed his head and closed his eyes. "This is a good time to appreciate your sincerity."

Now with slim look he watched him, studying the short jerks of his hood, the movements of his head. "Well?"

"Thou hast not to fear my sincerity, and I shall reveal myself forthright. I am aware of all the vicissitudes that incurr’d throughout the history of the Barrier, up to what caus’d it to open. In a way, I learn’d thanks to the kind of consistency of my nature, which is not of matter alike thine, but of pure magic and mind force that in me interwove. This indeed embeddeth the crux of mine inherent inability to take on new power in the form of human or monster souls."

"Are you telling me that you will not stab me in the back?”

The spirit stared at him with his burning eyes, but then just nodded. Asgore gave off a hushed sigh, mouth closed.

He scratched his beard with a fingernail, and poked the embers with a stick. “So, I deduce that you are far from being a simple ghost."

"Naught. Rather I am the result of a virtually impossible coincidence of factors, which produc’d immaterial matter and mindless sentience. Thinkest then, I am even younger than thee but I grew eternal in the Hyperuranion, a plane in which space and time exist not, and thence conjoin myself to the material one. And to compound thy confusion, for sakes unusual to thee, to put it simply, I was born twice."

Asgore was took aback, straightening his posture. He looked at him again, and let out a laugh.

"Thou laughest for my naivety or too much improbability?” the spirit said, amused by that spontaneity.

"Forgive me, but everything besides being stunning, is nothing short of fascinating! I have seen enough weirdness to make you very credible. I might even begin to trust you, you know?"

"Marry! At least and at last, we can release the suspicions, but worry not: trust is not something to take lightly, takest the time thou needest to weigh not the words but the actions of mine. ‘Tis understandable, as I am us’d to say."

“There is truth in what you say. Well! I must admit that you are a very curious and surprising entity. I say that it is time to tell me your name, if you have one!"

The spirit looked him straight in the eye. "Pray pardon me?"

"Your name! I cannot call you ‘spirit’ or ‘ghost’ forever, seeing how peculiar you are. So, I admit that I am forgetful with names, but I’ll try my best with yours."

The spirit stood silently. Asgore waited hopefully.

"Since thou askest me... call me Ioreon."

"Ioreon... that’s an interesting name, I hope to keep it in mind!"

"And I iterate: my name is Ioreon."

"Okay..."

"Ioreon."

"Okay, I know, I get it, I got the concept."

"And now I am sure thou shalt learn it at once. But hasten then, eatest ere thou burnest thy dinner."

“Oh damn it, you’re right!" With a jerk, he pulled the saucepan from the flame and let it cool on a cold stone.

"When thou hast finisht, indulge yet again in a little rest. Thou art not sleeping by the day before yesterday."

"I can well believe it, the heat in the Hotlands was quite unbearable.” He blew off the steam on his meal, pleased by the issuing smell. “In exchange, the bed of Alphys was nice and comfortable."

"Too bad we did not brought it along, dost not thou think?"

"So rather than a King you would have a bellhop," concluded simpering the King, as he sank crusts of stale bread in the gravy.

"Thou hast not lost thy mood, not even the sense of appetite. Enjoy thy meal and unclench thy muscles, my King, I shall stay alert of the surroundings tonight."

* * *

The strong wind blew from below, moving mantles and lashing Asgore’s neck as they crossed the wooden bridge, creaking but steady, above the abyss, the bottom of which lose itself into the shadows. They had but just entered the washed domain of Waterfall.

"You see already how much more pleasant is here, though wet? No heat, fire and choking smoke everywhere, just the slight breeze of waterfalls of fresh water."

"Certainly thy Royal Highness, but wouldst thou deem more appropriate focusing on the task at hand?"

"Of course, I acknowledge only the fact that I am at the best of my energies here. And I really needed that nap."

"Of just seven hours."

“Oh come on, I’ve already apologized!” The king blushed, but pushed away that thought. "Nevertheless, we should still be in time to achieve our goal."

"We shall succeed, assure thyself. Apropos, dost thou remember my name?"

"Um... Erin?"

"Nay, but thou wert close. Ioreon."

Asgore blushed again.

"Just a few more tries and thou shalt learn it, now however we ought to move. Our next destination is an isolated cave, fill’d with violet and teal gems aplenty."

"I have the distinct feeling that that’s the place Gerson told me."

Ioreon nodded, then raised his staff and lit up with a soft glow the surroundings as to not disturb the fireflies. Asgore appreciated beyond measure that secluded spot, so peaceful to allow the nesting colonies of those graceful insect of light. Echo Flowers that lined the road also emitted a light, bluish and mild, while whispering to those passerbies the adventures of the monsters who have left their homes.

"Look! This one went away fluttering with repeated flexes, that’s surely Aaron! And this... this is about a group of dogs with heavy steps, the Royal Guards definitely! This one is very quiet, but hearing those around him he brought his entire supply of alcoholic beverages with him, no doubt must be Grillby!"

The spirit to tell the truth did not care, or at least did not notice, as he was engrossed to follow the path, which gradually lost brightness, realizing in fact that the fireflies became scarcer. Even if only slightly, the air was dry, index of lack of water, an intolerable situation for those insects.

He looked around. "We are approaching an oncoming dark area.”

He received no response. “Thy Royal Highness?"

Difficult to define the look he did, when he realized that King Asgore was still busy with one of those flowers, sighing heavily.

"What is’t this time?"

"Oh... –” He did not even look away, his head nestled in the corolla, rapt by the whispering gynoecium “– It’s my queen. Just as she was coming to the rescue of Frisk. How lovable!"

"Methinks she shan’t be happy to know that thou wert 'eavesdropping' her speeches."

His eyes widened. "Oops..."

With a wave of his hand, Ioreon encouraged him to continue, until they reached the bioluminescent cave. As a unique case in its life, pitch dark shrouded it completely, no plant or fungus or insect emitting even a small spark.

The spirit had to peer ahead. "Mayhap we came at the wrong time of the year."

"How funny."

"Lackaday but more I cannot say, therewithal the fact that all the lights are inexplicably extinguisht. In return, this staff shall answer."

Ioreon risked more light, which became exuberant enough to clearly illuminate all around.

The King looked in amazement at the stone dome above them, they surrounded by cliffs and grooves that outlined a grassy path. "I did not know that this cave was so big!"

"And we shan’t be afraid to fall down or banging against its walls."

Thus, they began walking at a good pace for the labyrinthine cave. Between a protuberance and the other, they could appreciate the beauty of the firs, immersed in the sound of water in the distance and the smell of bluish dew. Trampling the grass, they perceived that it sparkled and lighted up again, tracing behind them a bright path. In that enchantment, their march turned into a refreshing walk.

After an hour, they could see already up to a few steps the outside light. The cave opened in a clear space, crossed by rivers and streams. A rough dirt road, invaded in most parts by water, led to a small village in Waterfall.

"Good enough,” – Ioreon planted his staff on the ground – “We did a long way. Dost thou wish to pause a moment to scavenge? Methinks ‘tis better to let food expire inside a sack than outside of it, for food is never enough."

"If you say so. I think I’ll go to take some refreshment at Undyne’s house, hoping she have left something behind. Uh... Iren, look for the entrance to the Cave of Gerson, it should be around here."

"It shall be done. And by the way, the name is Ioreon."

Asgore hoped his wrist slammed on his forehead would let the name inside his head.

Now that the spirit went on exploring, the King headed to the gone-by home of his ex-captain of the royal guard. According to him, it had seen better days.

The walls were blacker than usual, not to mention the smashed roof. The door was locked, so he hoped that no one had given into indiscriminate looting. He broke the handle with a blow of his trident and entered slowly.

An acrid smell came from inside. He tried to turn on the switch, but the chandelier was long gone, so he had to strive with his spells. He raised his hand and lit it in the guise of a torch, shuddering at the scene. It was not noticeable from outside, but it was a mess, as if the whole house was set on fire. All kinds of furniture were only a vague memory, and the stench of burnt was intoxicating.

"Gosh, what happened here? Is this the way of keeping dear a house? I doubt even that it has something edible..."

The suspects were unfortunately justified. He searched in what once was the kitchen, apparently exploded, rummaging in the few places left standing, opening sideboards inconsolably empty. He found nothing but boxes of spaghetti in profusion, half of them charred, and some spice for seasoning. He considered himself lucky enough to find a bottle of tomato sauce still intact at the bottom of a drawer.

"Better than nothing, I guess... Well, at least I am arranged for dinner."

Since there was nothing else in the house worth keeping, he went out looking for Ioreon. Sure enough, Napstablook’s and Mettaton’s houses had little to offer in terms of 'consistent' food.

It did not take long to discern the glowing staff of the spirit. He was in deep thought in front of an entrance supported by wooden beams. There shone the reflection of the fabled gems of the Cave of Gerson.

"I see that you have found it!"

The spirit greeted him, pointing with extended arm and open hand the glimmering depths. “‘Twas practically around the corner just before we left each other."

"Just as well, this is a small world! So, where do we start?"

"It seemeth very intricate with its tunnels. The human soul might await in some dead end. Fortunately I can feel her resonating, albeit ‘tis quite far hence."

"What are we waiting then? Lead the way, I can’t wait to liberate her from her torment!"

"Inasmuch thy resolve is high, by thy leave I shall hearken and follow her wails."

"Wails? Oh no! How much fear had that child when reaching a blind spot only to be killed or die of hunger!"

"And here we are at it again! We cannot always dwell on the most tragic of fates, it happen’d and we are contrite, but there is no reason to bask in pain, straighten up!"

"You're right, I should take things head on. As I should have done from the beginning...”

"King Asgore, mine apologies in advance, but speak no more. Let us head our thoughts where they rightly belong."

* * *

[Nantosuelta - The Goddess of Nature](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Etyy0xTvbrg)

The entrance was solid, the first tracts slipped away with relative ease, but as they delved, they realized how much the Cave was wide, deep, pitted, and especially shaky.

"Watch thy feet, the ground here is unstable."

"I'm starting to think that everything here is unstable, you say that every ten steps."

"Better sure than sorry. The beams are not exactly in good condition as thou canst see, and the boardwalks are rotten for the moisture herein."

"Of course without Gerson care this place would become an unsafe trap."

They meandered into areas deeper and deeper, where even Gerson from time to time avoided to explore. They could not enjoy fully the splendor of precious stones without first finding a steady foothold. Some wooden beams had fallen dramatically, in some passages even the vibrations of their voices did crack the walls and topple pieces of ceiling. Perhaps the most critical point was a scaffolding fixed to the rocky ridge: if at the time was relatively safe, now wobbled alarmingly. Without placing the due attention, the Cave would become their brand new mausoleum studded with gems.

Further inwards they noticed how morphology changed. At one time, there must have been natural bridges as means to the child to reach that faraway place of repose. The crystals became more voluminous, and the light of Ioreon bounced and was amplified in turn. The galleries intertwined, while beneath them intricate stone shapes stood out as sculptures, decorated with topaz, sodalite and malachite embedded in basalt. They stood amazed when they saw the extraordinary rose quartz floor beneath them, shaped like the grass of a pink meadow.

Asgore kept his balance for a time that seemed like hours, and descended for meters so close to a mortal fall that he could taste it. Between the many plays of reflection and refraction of the violet luminaria, however, an unmistakable purple spot stood under a stone arch, at the bottom of a path strewn with amethysts, lost between spring sources of underground water.

“Do you see what I see?”

"Indeed, ‘tis the soul of perseverance."

"And we will be also perseverant in reaching her. If only I could find a way to go down..."

"We have only an oblig’d passage, in that alcove on the left, but I am afraid that we might stray too far from the soul."

Asgore grunted, and began to touch the wall. "Make just a little more light."

"What intentions dost thou have?"

"Since it seems like you won't help me going down, I will attach the rope to a solid hold and descend."

"If thou art asking me to fly, we cannot herein, 'tis dangerous to move around all these stalactites. Moreover I trow that a simple stony hold cannot withstand a monster of such body size."

"Well, propose me a better idea then. For all I know, by dint of digging deep this place turned increasingly precarious, and the deeper we delve, the more the risk increases. I say that there is no other choice but to go down and hope for a soft landing."

The spirit sighed, and threw a bolt of energy that pierced a big rocky spur. "Threadest the rope hereinto and wishest it well."

Asgore did so, securing the rope in his sack with many knots and making sure it was stable enough. Then he launched himself, landing with his feet against the wall.

"I am going down, cover me."

He descended cautiously, but the wall refused to listen to reason: crumbling small stones made his descent slippery. Ioreon was alongside the King.

"Methinks ‘tis not a sound choice, King Asgore."

The King wanted to answer, but slipped on one of these stones and went to kiss the wall. "Ouch."

"Art thou faring well?"

"No, I am not. And the rope is not long enough."

"If it pleaseth thee, I can still create an air cushion beneath."

"You should have thought of that earlier you know!"

"Dost not exaggerate, ‘tis air not an inflatable balloon! If thou goest forth to an appropriate height and jump, it shall dampen the fall."

"I don't have much choice, do I? Do what you need to do, I’ll go as far as I can," Asgore snorted, hastening his journey to the tip of the rope, until Ioreon signaled him soon after.

“’Tis done, thou canst jump. Any last words?”

"Let’s see… Geronimo!" And he slackened off.

“Curious choice of words,” the spirit said, while attending the King who found himself incapable to get up, pulling him with both arms.

Now hiding behind one of the many stalagmites, Asgore lowered his voice so to avoid making the same mistake of last time. “So, what do we do now? We cannot just sneak in there and take the soul."

"Verily, I would not try to chase her around like the other one, not in a place like this. Let us do the talk, shall we?"

"There, now I feel guilty for neglecting our first soul."

"In mine opinion he shan’t complain. He already realized that thou just dost not mess with fire."

“I suppose so… Well, since I have some responsibilities in all of this, I’ll go to the rendezvous.”

"Triest not sudden movements. I trust thee."

The King swallowed the tension and walked up the path on tiptoe, emitting some yelp whenever he inadvertently stepped on one of the pointy crystals. Once there, however, he was seized by emotion. The moment was to say the least magical.

[To Zanarkand (Final Fantasy X) Piano Cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3eQuEm4R10)

He cleared his throat. “Howdy! I am Asgore, your silly jailer... Do you remember me? Or maybe you remember New Home, where we used to talk and hang out, or when I told fairy tales to all of you? Well, maybe as a soul you can’t possibly remember any of this, but you see… we went through kilometers looking for you! I..."

The soul stirred, and levitated away slowly.

"Wait! Don’t go!” Asgore cared no more of the sharp tips at his feet.

“I know that I have caused immense pain to all of you, and I have done nothing but suffer for your fate, even now I cannot forgive myself! You have been used, locked up for years and years awaiting as a sacrifice for the Barrier. But you didn’t disappear, as well as your body! We found a way to free yourself from this state, making you whole again so to live happily ever after!"

The soul, however, increased its speed, turning into a small glimmer in the shadow of the stone arch.

"Please, do not go... I am not doing this for me, I just wanted you to be happy! Don’t go…" Asgore fell to his knees. "Let me help you, I beg you... you are like a daughter to me. I've already lost my children once, I don’t want to lose you a second time..."

He let his bowed head pour the few remaining tears after centuries of prolonged agony. Tears without sobbing, austere like his regal demeanor, of the one aware of his agonizing helplessness.

They rolled down his cheeks, and rhythmically thundered onto the crystals. But not all of them.

He felt a strong heat close to the chest, constant in its beat as the echo of his tears. The soul answered his call.

They stayed that way for long moments. The soul beat untiring, a sound that Asgore was never able to fully appreciate behind walls of enchanted glass and people demands.

"My Sweetness” – he said then – “Don’t be afraid, I’ll hurt you no more. Let me put you in a safe place, closer to your brother of kindness. You will meet again with Toriel and Frisk, and live happily like a real family…"

The soul understood completely, rising and falling serenely. It did not oppose any resistance when Asgore let it gently into the containment cylinder. He did not saw any jolt, when he placed it inside the sack. As if it had fallen asleep, lulled by his tears.

Asgore said no more words.

 

Sophie – Depths of Gerson’s Cave, Waterfall, 602x


	5. V – Just Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy dear readers! Here we are at the fifth chapter.  
> So, thinking about it, the name Ioreon might be difficult to pronounce (even with exhilarating results). Just to be safe, here's how it should be pronounced (if you ever heard of Quenya or Sindarin, you will see what I mean): Yor (voiced R, like in Mars or bird) – E (as in let) – On.
> 
> Moving on, someone rightfully pointed out to me why I introduced this "Ioreon", a disjointed character that has little to do with the game. It is certainly not my intention to break the immersion, but I'd say also that this "spirit" is not at all alien to Undertale. He is unexpected at most.  
> He represents a "thing" mentioned several times, an important element of the entire game. At the end, you will understand his power and his reluctance, but of course there is nothing that prevents you to guess ahead of time who he is. 
> 
> ;-)

Careful steps shook the wooden planks. The creaking resounded behind them, as if chanting parting words. After that meeting at the bottom of the Cave of Gerson, the bites on his feet, knees and hands healed quickly. Only a lingering pang in the heart refused to vanish.

"Thy Royal Highness..." Ioreon said, trying to stir Asgore, but he could not.

After helping him to climb up the ridge, they had embarked on the way back. He patiently waited in that endless silence, limiting himself to only show him with hand signals the safest steps to take. But his heart could not hold back anymore, so he faced him before going ahead again.

“Thy Royal Highness, I had not the audacity to disturb thy thoughts, yet I grieve seeing thee in such a state. Hark mine orison: enforc’d silence shan’t attain aught, but if thou dost not feel at ease I shan’t argue. The choice is thine, but I just ventur’d to say how proud I am of thee."

That move broke the listless spell on Asgore’s eyes. "You are proud of me?”

He sighed. “I appreciate it, truly. But dear me, I do not deserve it. I am not proud of the evil, even indirect, I have caused to them. To that soul I showed the weakness of my person and the weight of my betrayal, what once was the cause of their demise, a grievous sin I determined to repeat never again. When I was so close to her, I could not even express myself. So small, so innocent, so frail. What kind of monster was I?"

"I reiterate myself yet again: the circumstances left thee no other choice, insofar horrible and brutal. The consequences of thine actions are these, but ‘twas not all thy fault. Rather, wouldst thou had the will to absorb a human soul and seek other ones out, besmearing thine hands with full awareness of such a bale act and its deliberate consent? Not even cowardice craveth the shedding of innocent blood, and that I never glimps’d in thy gaze. Thinkest instead, how they have chang’d thee. Thou hast come to terms with thine own weakness, and now thou art all the more aware of the value of life. The children understood when thou tookest care of them, even in form of souls. They recall what they had to endure, but also how they were cherisht."

Perhaps his words had not the outcome he hoped, since a crumpled smile showed up on Asgore’s tired face.

“I cannot think of any explanation as to why you know things I have never mentioned to anyone. Yet… it does not upset me. I carry with me a feeling since I saw you the first time, as if we have known each other a lifetime. It's all so oxymoronic, but so be it.”

Ioreon’s eyes subsided for a moment, swept away by a qualm perhaps, only to shine then, more intensely. “Verily, I prefer to arouse dismay, lest I see thee fall apart.”

"Well now, I’ll not deny it: I had suspicions towards you, and however hard I try some will not perish, although I hope they’ll do at the end.” He placed his hand on Ioreon’s shoulder. “Whatever happens, I put my trust in you, for the confidence and closeness you showed me. I will not forget it. And if you would do me the honor, I wish to call you a friend of mine."

And Ioreon’s hand rested on the King’s shoulder in turn. "Thou art one dear to me already, thy Royal Highness."

"You know, you don’t have to use titles of deference, just call me Asgore!"

"Oh. If that is thy will, I shall comply with joy, Asgore."

"Here, that's right!” He concluded with a pat on the shoulder. “Now we go, there are more souls to save!"

“In good sooth!” The spirit returned calm and collected.

But another kind of apprehension troubled his gaze, looking now into the depths they had left earlier.

"Hey, what’s wrong?"

"Didst thou heard that crunch?"

A grinding noise interrupted the condescending quiet. Debris spilled from the rocky colonnades around them.

"Why I have this feeling that something bad is going to happen?"

A boulder of several kilos plummeted, brushing the wooden boardwalk they traveled. The airflow shook the planks.

"Hie, flee we must!"

[Future World Music - No Escape](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyytclYWz88)

Asgore held tight the bag on his shoulders and ran after Ioreon, who guided him each time in avoiding dangerous spots. Asgore was agile, safely jumping on beams and stones when he could or climbing up in order to escape the collapsing cave behind them. Several boulders threatened to crush him, but the spirit promptly flung them to the sound of arrows. The exit seemed unattainable, but they already saw the lights of salvation.

Their tenacity was poorly rewarded. A stone pillar gave way at its base, and collapsed on the wooden piers. Asgore suffered the backlash that shattered the structure. He lose balance, and stunned fell into the deep blue of the cave.

"ASGORE!" shouted Ioreon, rushing towards him with all the speed at his disposal. Although he managed to reach him, the race closed to a stalemate.

They were trapped between the hammer of stalactites, shot like an arrow shower, and the anvil of stalagmites, spread out like jaws ready to smash. A too abrupt action would have caused more harm than good, so Ioreon could not do anything but prove again his powers.

"Asgore! If air shan’t offer shelter to thee, water then shall be!"

He stopped in midair, singing a monotone litany of incomprehensible words.

The water beneath drew near, rising up in a billow that engulfed the falling King, slowing his descent. Ioreon dove in turn, shielding him from the rocky tips and the absence of air. The swollen river soon subsided and returned to naturalness, dragging them with it.

Asgore fainted.

* * *

 [TPR - Danger in the Forest (new version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tF8ZlBmNAA)

The noise of the stormy waves died down, eventually giving way to that of a slight flow of water.

His ears still rang. He perceived that he was on dry land, lying on a somewhat slippery hill. He put his hand on his head, hoping to ward off the stabbing pain champing at the brain. Some piece of that hill slid down into the water, accompanied by the sound of metal abrading metal. His nostrils captured the scent of damp mixed with rust, a too acrid smell for his royal senses.

"Where am I?" he said. But he got no answer.

Asgore was not fully aware of his conditions and surroundings, but in the midst of disorientation and confusion, a chilling thought made its way: where was the sack with the souls?

With his sight not yet accustomed, he searched frantically around him for fear of having lost them somewhere. His attempts were to no avail, there was no trace of them, and neither of Ioreon.

"Has he abandoned me?"

To his relief, his vision returning clear killed that thought.

It turned out he was without his armor and wrapped in a woolen consumed blanket. Ahead of him was the reassuring glow of a campfire, shrouded all around by a gloomy darkness, and not far away sat what appeared to be his lot. Without hesitation he tried to stand to check the souls, but a stab in his right leg forced him to return supine, incapacitating his movements. He felt to the touch a compress of bandages on the source of pain, wide enough to cover half of his thigh, releasing the fragrance of fresh leaves and herbs.

“Methinks thou shouldst better lie down. Grant thee mercy, thou art safe.”

Asgore heard that voice, one among thousands, and was glad to see Ioreon there, sorry for his ailments. It seems he had just come back, arrived as he was from a tunnel, off the bottom of the unknown.

"I knew you wouldn’t leave me to rot in places never beaten by a living soul."

"I could not be so heartless, not after what happen’d to thee."

"Indeed I wonder, what exactly happened? All I remember is my inexorable fall with no way out, and nothing else."

Ioreon sat down beside him. "To avoid an inglorious end on pointed pinnacles, I let the waves take thee, but fie! We were upstream the river that dragg’d thee away. ‘Twas a journey not long but turbulent, beat by mine attempts of summoning breathing air into that water far from dead. Armor and vigilance muffl’d most of the collisions, but knowest that thou wert toss’d violently and slamm’d disastrously, until we were brought into an underground lake, close to where we are now. Yet I must say, alas, that this is not a pleasant landscape.”

Astonished, Asgore looked around him. The saggy hill on which he rested was nothing but a heap of scrap and junk, one of many as far as the eye can see.

"Of all the places we could wind up, right here in the Garbage Dump! But tell me and reassure my heart, the souls are still with us?"

"They are, Asgore, for I guarded them from loss and injury. They are still inside their cylinders, inside the sack. Come now, thinkest to recuperate wholly. Most of thy wounds are gone already, but on the leg there is a most pernicious one. I was looking the surroundings for something that would hasten thine healing, only to root out herbs grown at the mouth of the lake. Thy bodily fabric is waiting for a hot infusion, albeit ‘twas hard to sweeten."

"I had worse. You see, I think that a cake with buttecups is the worst of convictions."

"None of this shall be given to thee, yet ‘tis always a bitter pill to swallow nonetheless. Ah, worry not for the cup, I sterilis’d it," he said, pouring in said cup the contents of the pot on the campfire. It gave off a pungent odor, vaguely reminiscent of hawthorn and chamomile, mixed with tealeaves.

Asgore drank from it, and a curled expression crossed his face. "Darn, it’s awful!"

"Aye, I see. Howbeit, it shan’t take long to come to effect and, with my care, thou shouldst be restor’d anon, between morrow and the day after morrow."

"Tsk, I don’t even know how much longer the little humans can hold up! Two days are just too many!”

"Well enough, two other days pass’d since thou fell and I brought thee here.”

Asgore felt faint again.

“Hush, mifriend. By my prediction, within one week and a half we shall come back to their place of rest, traveling through the safe roads of thy people. They shan’t be endanger’d throughout our venture. Now, while thou allay and eat whereof is in store, I am going to locate one of the souls, perceiv’d around here somewhere. Thou shan’t run any risks alone, and I shan’t be gone for long."

Thus, Ioreon bade him goodbye and vanished, leaving Asgore immersed in the lulling sound of flowing water.

* * *

 [Demon's Souls OST - 13 Fool's Idol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqCM86oxmtc)

Asgore had to open his eyes. There was something in the air, something that commanded him to wake up.

The flame of the fire had grown weak. The sound of water was reduced to an ephemeral gurgling, as if the darkness itself were muffling the noise. The shadow loomed, and strange noises of beaten metal echoed in the tunnels. The situation was nothing short of disquieting.

He noticed a hump shape, cloaked in darkness, at a considerable distance from where he was lying. Around it palpitated some kind of interference, as if it bent and diverted the course of the little light still present.

Then he heard it. A mild hum, similar to that of an electric discharge.

He straighten his back for closer inspection, only to reveal a dim white flare, that stood out from the rest.

The metal noises became more and more insistent. The environment distorted as in the throes of a black hole. The hum coming from that individual turned into a prolonged whistle, rolling in Asgore’s ears.

“Gosh, it hurts! What the heck is happening?”

His sight darted in every direction, unsure on what to do. He still had difficulty in shaking off the numbness in his flesh, and took flight. Breathing heavily, he felt at a loss, as if he were the alien in such situation.

He watched resigned and helpless the hunched figure advancing, waiting for whatever it was at the foot of his pallet.

Suddenly and surprisingly, as he batted his eyelashes, realized how everything returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

"Golly, am I seeing things now? I'm too old for this..."

Yet the whistle remained impressed in his mind. Now processed, slowed down and discerned, it left in its place two distinct words. "Don’t… forget."

"What should I forget not?"

“Yikes!” Asgore flinched, but it was only Ioreon returning.

"Gadzooks, there is no need to shout. Something bothereth thee?"

“Thank goodness it’s you! Forgive me, I thought someone else was here. Maybe it was just a delirium."

Ioreon looked at him dazed, and then all around them. "Someone else thou sayest? How curious…"

"Yeah, there should be no one around here."

"Nay, I meant that ‘tis funny, for I felt it too. More than one influence linger here in the Underground. This one hath the same signature I sensed in the laboratory, and ‘twas so tangible that appeareth even to thee. I dare say and without fail, thou hast not fever."

"This is no time for jokes! What’s happening?"

"Well, it can be anything. As thou may know, the Barrier, other than creating a spatial separation with the outside world, withal bordereth in its interior the flow of time that, as a liquid in a bottle, swirl’d and re-establisht after each reset. Whenever this process is executed, the internal time slippeth backwards. Since the Barrier open’d, the inner time in regression hath been normalizing with the outer one by means of entropic issues. To wit, I trow that the restoration of the space-time continuum maketh these phenomena plausible to occur."

"That’s extraordinarily disturbing, you know?"

"The chasm of space and time hath never been a safe place. Trust me, I have seen that too."

Asgore snorted, tired of standing there while anything might happen. He stood motionless for far too long. Therefore he rose, despite the protests of the leg and Ioreon’s.

"’Tis too early to get up Asgore, thy fractures have not heal’d yet."

"Give me a stick then. The thought of not going forward won’t let me sleep peacefully anymore."

Ioreon merely fell silent. He gave him his staff, and laid his hands on the wound in his leg, which already opened thanks to contractile tension in a magical spring.

"Pray forgive me, Asgore, for this precaution,” Ioreon said. Nothing sensational happened, but already Asgore felt the pain subside, and his turmoil increase.

“Now, as physicality is foster’d, likewise spirituality shall be gnaw’d. I cannot force feed thee with magic, for it may led to thine impotence of senses. The less exhaustive route is give and take. Now, thou shall account for thy mandate. Raise heart and soul then, so that apathy and despair shan’t come and grasp thee, for they are lethal to a monster.”

"Got it, it’s better to walk than eat my heart out. And thanks for the staff, it was not my intention to part you from it."

"Fear not, ‘tis more a representation symbol than a need. Now then, the awaiting soul is in the south-west hence, descending through the course of waste. I recommend thee not to trip, otherwise we shall be back to square one."

Ioreon went first, burdening himself with the sack and illuminating the tunnel in front of him with his palm as if it were a torchlight. Asgore followed closely, dragging along with conviction and regretless.

* * *

 [BFME2 Soundtrack: 9-Pride of the Dwarves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9hJhXsIBZU)

The water flow through clunkers and various refuses was incessant, making difficult their journey. The descent, now turned largely impractical, forced the two to daring diversions around the piles of junk. Asgore, now looking haggard, wobbled several times, tenaciously enduring the side effects of healing. He threatened several times to stumble on fragile hillsides, managing to fall only twice, in the wet.

"Those humans up there sure are insensitive, how could they just throw whatever happens to be on their hands? If they continued like this, they would have likely buried us under meters of waste!"

Ioreon meanwhile was busy welding together pieces of scrap to create a solid enough boardwalk to facilitate the movements of the King. His palm lit up with difficulty a suitable distance, now that the hills became mountains. They proceeded at a slow pace as well, until they arrived at a waterfall, whose noise was disturbed by some new item that added itself to the other ones into the abyss. The infamous Garbage Dump abyss.

“Hey, Ioreon. You know, I have always wondered what's down there."

"The waste that end up thither thou meanest? This place is not so high: two hundred meters below lieth a stagnant lake, which surely collected historical artifacts inasmuch are so ancient, dating back at least to the industrial age. Look if thou want, but ‘tis naught to shout about."

The light from the palm, magnified as it was that of a star, showed what lurked in the shadows: still heaps of colorful cases, brass and iron bars, ailerons, bulkheads and wooden planks, broken carts, bottles and plates and glasses of all shapes and sizes, tires, magazines and manga books, videotapes, televisions, computers and astronaut stuff. Even the lake was an integral part of that dump, whose waters were muddy and smelly, drenching cartons and fabrics that there sailed. The air trapped there for who knows how many centuries was indescribable.

"What a depressing sight," Asgore had to agree.

"And so on and so forth. Therein needeth only a spaceship and it shall be fully book'd." Ioreon was altogether disenchanted.

"Yeah, a glorified pigsty. But aside from this, we should be close to the soul if I have understood correctly."

"Verily. And guessest what…"

"It's down there." Asgore almost fell to the ground with the staff in his hands. "Now I just have to figure out the reason why."

"They sure are not infallible in locating the place of their departure. Nonetheless, ‘tis curious that it happen’d right there."

"This kingdom of mine seems all the more foreign to me. Golly, it does not matter. It is time to get busy. Can you help me go down?"

Ioreon positioned himself in flight mode. Asgore climbed on the back of the spirit, hoping not to put weight on his sore leg. An unwanted yank gave him off a scream, but all in all they were ready to go.

The cascade of water and scraps fell roaring, accumulating in the lake that stirred the rubbish like a boiled pot, mobilizing the bottom upwards and vice versa. Opposing this peristaltic movement, a firm steel framework stranded in the trash appeared as a potentially suitable site for landing. Ioreon flew from the edge of the waterfall and fluttered with his passenger on board, lowering himself cautiously.

The abyss was like a city of metal embedded in an alien landscape, full of tall red towers and bristling with bronze roads, strewn with plastic flowers, wrapped in a light mist of condensation while blaring hammers beat into a furnace and hidden winged beasts rubbed their wings of paper.

"And where did the soul go in this pandemonium?" Asgore thought aloud.

Ioreon landed on the said framework and let Asgore off. "He is definitely around, I hope not buried underneath.”

He lighted up his staff and gave it back to Asgore. “Searchest thitherto, while I hover around the lake. Cry out my name if thou findest something. I shall heed thy call."

They parted, knowing it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Asgore, limping, clambered up the supports that he deemed solid and went through crevices, noticing how the gutted remains around him looked like war machines and unexploded ordnance. Probably a conflict broke out years ago and its relics fell over there.

From above it did not seem, but the gentle slopes outlined winding paths, sometimes hiding the view, sometimes offering glimpses, appreciable even, of the blurred skyline. Running along the side of a variegated pile, he found himself facing the sides of a crater, where greenish smoke occasionally raised from small cracks.

_What an inhospitable place... It doesn’t look safe for venturing at all. But… what is that soft glow in the bottom of the pit?_

The fumes rose higher and numerous. Some small debris slid down the slope. Asgore was hesitant to climb it, but he wanted to be sure.

_Could it be the soul we are looking for? And yet... something tells me that I might be wrong. I know nothing of light blue souls in this area..._

“Oh well, be that as it may! Ioreon!” he called aloud. “Ioreon!” he shouted louder, as he readied himself for what he was going to do. He went around the contour of the crater, came across a platform whereupon he positioned himself so to have the better view, and waited for the spirit to come, certain that he heard him.

[Shadow of the Colossus - A Despair-filled Farewell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-kfS_GbkNw)

A sudden jolt however made him slipping back, falling down to the road he trailed. The bowl was rising.

"What devilry is this!"

A gargantuan bulge of accumulated gas, stoked by tons of rotting trapped underneath, happened to be releasing in that exact moment. But such was its size that, to Asgore’s eyes, it was nothing but an impending tsunami of loam, flotsam and sharp aluminum towed by fermented air, waiting to burst at the seams and pour down.

His heart pounded uncontrollably, the adrenaline rush made him forget all pain and disorientation. Relying on the staff, with grand strides he ran as fast as his body could manage, wishing he could stop his ears up against the boom of gas venting out alarmingly, dragging up with it all sorts of junk.

Asgore did not even dare turning around to see. Just the sound of that cataclysm of garbage compelled him to speed up the pace more than enough. Doom was approaching swiftly.

He desperately sought shelter, grinding his teeth after the impact of stones and splinters upon pinnacles and monuments of trash. He tried to climb as high as he could to escape the morass that would only slowed him, but the earthquake brought down the most unstable heaps, complicating his escape.

The ways out decreased rapidly in number. The hope for a safe haven became slimmer and slimmer.

He carried on, running along a frame that provided useless cover, just before a wreck heaved the entire escarpment. "It has to end like this, then? Have I failed also in bringing back those whose lives I wrongfully took away?"

But a yellow glimmer, appeared all of a sudden, awoke him at the brink of defeat. Asgore bewildered when he saw the human soul approaching fast up to his nose, then moving away in the middle of a pass. It awaited him at the breach.

"Do you want me to follow you?" Asgore said in a whisper, while ramming piles of cans out of his way already. A bike flew nearby him and fell just ahead, slashing his left brassard. Doom was inevitable.

The soul spun hectic and swerved to the left, followed on its hells by Asgore, who with the corner of his eye saw larger and heavier debris crashing, demolishing the towers of rust around him. The poisonous vapors bare the roots of the ground; the filthy hills flattened, compliant with the passage of the tidal wave.

The soul brightened strongly, beckoning Asgore to take cover under an alcove of hard rock sheltered by an airplane wing. With a jump, unthinkable even for him, he slipped in there, together with the soul as his only companion.

The wave crumbled with its din of hundreds foils, nails and rivets on the wing, threatening to collapse it down and bury them. Shadows were swallowing them.

"At least I have found you. Thank you, my son."

But it was not for long. An imperious roar stepped against the metallic sound, and a great light swept that ruinous delusion away.

"Forgivest the delay, ‘twas difficult to find thee. At least till I saw a jump the likes of which I never witness’d before."

“Heavens! Perfect timing my friend, and debonair as always!”

“Thou doest me too much honor. Howbeit, I see that thee remain’d not unbusy.”

“And had it not been for him, I never would have made it through," Asgore said, his hands holding the air that surrounded the glowing little heart, levitating unhurried.

Ioreon helped him up. “I told thee they have no ill thoughts toward thee.”

Serenity settled over Asgore’s features, letting out a single tear. He stood, heedless of his leg crying again, and welcomed that soul now throbbing more than ever.

Ioreon took one of the empty cylinders and handed it to Asgore, letting him do the act. The soul did not object.

 

Jebediah – Garbage Dump Abyss, 432x


	6. VI – Pure Contrition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers. I promise this is the last chapter of Waterfall, we explored it length and breadth. It was a tad difficult to write up, quite dense with emotions. Oh well, I don’t really know what’s gotten into me!  
> Now, if what lies ahead is not Angst, then I failed in my attempt, but if it is what I think...  
> If you have any unfinished business, then go now.  
> Okay, just kidding. Anyway, I do not want to keep you any longer than necessary. Let us begin with the sixth chapter.

"Ouch!"

"Zounds Asgore! I am trying to treat the injury, holdest firm thy leg!"

The two were enjoying a break after Ioreon drew Asgore out from that abyss of dangers of the Garbage Dump, taking him as far away from it as possible. Obviously, they could not proceed just as easily with the wound obstinately refusing to heal.

"Don’t squeeze so hard!"

"Not only thou didst not heed me and wait to recover, not only thou forc’d thy leg to trail for kilometers, but imperil thyself with thy stubbornness was the peak of debacle! Have I told thee to wander that far?"

"No, but... Ow!” Despite the localized numbness, he still sensed the ethereal darning skewering his bare skin. “Golly, I thought I had found the soul, and so it was!"

"Not to mention ‘twas him to find thee, we would have certainly eluded that eruptive disaster. Albeit, I grant thee, ‘twas unpredictable."

"Yeah... I was the king of this place for centuries and centuries, I should know it like the back of my hand, but these kind of natural disasters are a constant surprise to me!"

"Aye, this proveth thee right.” Asgore flinched when Ioreon stuffed the compress with new healing herbs and rewrapped the bandages. “It seemeth that in each place we go, every natural or artificial element is already prey to erosion or wear..."

“And these abrupt changes should not arouse suspicions? I have never seen the like of it and in such magnitude."

"Methinks ‘tis still due to the normalization of the time flow. Owing to the backward slipping of the inner time, mayhap it had to accelerate to conform to the outer one, dragging forward all corrosive, biological, even metaphysical processes that we have witness’d. And probably we should expect more of these henceforward."

"Well, I have never been more ready for anything! And now leave my leg be, I am fine I tell you!"

"Be it so, but promisest me thou shan’t lose thine head and be cautious. Except for this mishap we are proceeding smoothly as I foresaw, so thou hast little to worry about."

"That’s because I cannot stop myself from embracing them anymore! Provided they want it... I won’t blame them if they refuse to..."

"Stop at once this baseless grudge against thee, Asgore!” He gave him a bump on the head with the staff, before handing it to him. “Keepest this staff and gettest up, we are almost out of the Garbage Dump!"

"Oh crumbs, okay! I just got carried away, you didn't have to hit me like that. Gosh…” Asgore rubbed his head frantically, but the look of Ioreon kept him from making further comments. With a nervous smile, he took the staff and left his pallet, balancing on his good leg.

He noticed that his condition improved at least, the cut did not felt tight as before. He caught sight of the staff lightening at the top by itself, but he cared little about it. “Do you know where might be the next soul?"

"If mine estimation is accurate, we must traverse a subterranean river and wander the recesses of Ebott. As usual, down we go."

"Ah, no problem! No ordeal scares me!" Asgore stood up confidently, but soon after lost his balance and fell on Ioreon, going straight on the ground.

"Oomph! Er...  beg your pardon?"

“Aye, apology accepted,” – Ioreon’s index finger tapped on the stone floor – “Be careful with that enthusiasm of thine…"

* * *

[Undertale - Waterfall Orchestral Arrangement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRTbS52NVIM)

The road went ever on, travelled by foot in muddy waters all the way to the edges of the Garbage Dump. The palm of Ioreon extended forward, its light swallowed up by the darkness that resembled a ravenous creature dwelling in the ceiling of the cave. The staff supporting Asgore did little in lighting up too, when they had to cross agleam, stagnant rivulets slithering on the floor.

Ioreon’s voice echoed whenever he found the least insidious fords where Asgore could wade in. The King’s cape made way to more stains than it ever had, adding to those of the past, symbol of his remainders in the depths of his lost kingdom. The very robe of the spirit, pure white as always, was not even grazed outwardly by anything.

Asgore issued a sigh of satisfaction when they propped their hands against the solid face of rock, another durable support to his advance. They trod along its length, past thundering waterfalls of crystalline water until, just next to a little one of these, stood out one of many fissures. They entered into this rift created by a small river, following its course in confined spaces where the bioluminescent grass could not grow.

The water had dug deep, eroding the hard stone in fine dust and leaving in its place columns of granite, like a petrified avenue of beech trunks. It grew in power as it descended rapidly between rock channels, turning impetuous colliding on stalagmites. Limestone drops hanged on the ceiling like imposing simulacra, filling the lungs of Asgore with saline disinfecting fragrance.

The floor that so far allowed them to stride forward stopped abruptly in a thick wall, while water continued undeterred under a narrow, low ceiling tunnel.

“I make a guess: we have to go in the tunnel.”

“A fairly insightful analysis, and as such we would benefit greatly from having thee in full force thereinto. How fareth the leg?"

"Aren't you funny…” Asgore muttered, then gave him back the staff and attempted a few steps. “I think I can do it, I do not feel the sting of my wounds."

"Excellent, yet regrettably little I know of how far we have to trudge.”

“Golly, would not it be easier if you opened a passage as you normally would?”

“Dost thou take me for a nauger? ’Tis not clear that magic is vital to me, and must be us’d solely when necessary? I prefer not to part from it when we can do without it. Pray, know that the current is in our favor, strong enough to facilitate thee, not enough to overwhelm thee. Otherwise, apprehend the implications if I interrupt the flow and release it eventually. I would not want to be downstream if I were thee.”

Asgore took out a sigh that shook the alcove. “All right, roger that. Since you're so convinced of it.”

“And thou mean well. Therefore, plant thy feet and hold thine hands against the walls, thou shan’t fall out of balance.”

"Easier said than done..." Asgore said, hoping he could rely on his own strength.

He warmed up arms and legs, and with a burst of pride went down into the riverbed. A chill ran through him just when he placed his feet firmly on the ground. He was up to his waist in cold water, feeling the stream whipping his skin and creeping between the armor joints.

As he put ahead his sore leg, he felt a mild tingling.

 _Nothing serious_ , he thought.

Slowly and gradually he continued forward, grabbing hold of the prominences on the riverbanks. Ioreon followed behind, keeping an eye on him.

Grab after grab, step after step, despite a considerable and prolonged endurance, minutes began to huddle on Asgore’s shoulders, and were not far off to turn into hours. His clothes soaked up so much water that weighed him even further down, suffering the fatigue in maintaining his balance despite the current.

He fastened his hands and feet, nearly to the point of unsheathing his claws against the bare stone. The sweat built up on his face, unable to evaporate after the moisture reigning there, and his breath became more and more dogged, in need of oxygen in that progressively narrowing tunnel.

“Ioreon, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep going.” His voice was trembling.

"Endure only for a little while, we have almost reach’d the end. Look ahead and falter not, mifriend," replied the spirit, shining more light with the staff to comfort him.

Indeed, even if his forces were about to fail, a hidden inside voice urged him to carry on as well.

 _Body of mine_ , _do not abandon me yet!_

New strength projected in his legs, his paws were like grappling hooks, his hands massive anchors. He put every thought and effort all along the channel of disruptive water, grinding his teeth and scratching the banks.

His perseverance was rewarded when Ioreon’s light lost itself in a cave, a clearing repaired from weather. Asgore let his hands extend in the empty air, clinging on the edge and climbing up to dry soil with his last ounce of energy. He dropped down to the ground, dripping profusely, haggard but proud of himself. And even if a brackish stench penetrated into his nostrils, he could only feel relieved.

Ioreon immediately conjured blazing logs, warming all around, and molded one of the several corrugated spurs of pumice in a smooth surface on which laying the exhausted Asgore flat. As he removed his armor, he made him comfortable with pillows and coverlet pulled out of the sack, still dry on his shoulders despite the rushing water. Asgore emitted just some grumbling when picked up, set down and manipulated, drowsing a little when wrapped in a languid tepidity.

Already his eyes were closing, and the last thing he saw was Ioreon, directing leery his gaze into the dark unknown.

* * *

“This time thou art up early, Asgore. Well awaken’d," Ioreon said, sitting next to the fire.

The King stretched himself and got up from his makeshift bed. He came near him, lured by the scent of tomato sauce and by what had all the appearance of spaghetti twisting in a pot.

"You've already set up the camp. What would I do without you?"

"Thou would have done the same nonetheless. Venturing companions serve this purpose, mifriend."

"Well, my thanks are in order!"

"Thou art welcome, but pray forgive me, I am more concern’d about thine health. ‘Twas well worth the journey?"

"A little sore, but other than that I am fine."

"Glad I am then. Lest disquiet grippeth thee, to our good fortune the passage sav’d us a long way. Hence we are close to our port of call: along this lair dark, downward and athwart aquifers, resteth the soul of Integrity."

But to Asgore his voice seemed distant, muffled. That inside voice, the same he heard in the underground river, came to visit him once again. He realized only then that it had never been his, creeping into his psyche without his knowledge.

That little voice, a faint and incomprehensible whisper, called to mind visions that enraptured him. He saw vividly an incessant rain, although the endless skies never rained down into the underworld, and sniffed musket powder and smoke. He saw the flight of a graceful shadow through cruel woods and turbulent rapids, heard a music box playing a sad melody, then the sound of tearing on cloth from ravenous claws and thorns.

He lived a dream, broken under an endless impetus. He glimpsed a spark, lost in the dark depths of an abyss.

A stab pierced his soul. ‘Nevermore’, was the last thing that ringed in his mind.

Ioreon rushed to his aid as the King held strong his chest and curled up on the ground. “Asgore? What aileth thee?"

Disoriented, he looked for Ioreon’s outstretched arm to grab on to. “I… I don’t know…”

"Thou hast not caught a cold, hast thou?" Ioreon brought him near the campfire, covering his shoulders with the coverlet.

"No, I haven’t. I sensed… like a terrible omen. However, I fear this is something that has already come true.”

“Dost thou mean…”

“I am sure of it. It dug into my mind, bringing to surface the memory of the day I obstinately wanted to forget. One of the worst of my entire life.”

The spirit dare not speak any words.

“The soul that we are looking for belongs to a little girl. The Royal Guard found the body, stranded on rocks, dragged by the current, and her own soul lingering on it. I was told… that the child fell into a chasm. How much pain can a father endure when he hears such unforgettable words: the soul itself was like weeping bitterly?”

The light in his eyes gradually died away, leaving behind only an empty crater. "I'm sorry Ioreon, I don’t know for how long I can continue to pretend nothing happened…"

The spirit had his eyes half-closed now. He breathed in, and surprised Asgore when he sang under his breath.

“Once I had a sweetheart, and now I have none.

“Once I had a sweetheart, and now I have none.

“She’s gone and left me, she’s gone and left me.

“Gone and left me, in sorrow to mourn.”

And he let the lay go on without him, at the snap of his fingers.

[Angelo Branduardi - Once I Had A Sweetheart](https://youtu.be/B_u1P5WmCDY?t=37s)

The air around him seemed to bend and creak, producing melodious sounds and the voice of another singer who continued the tune, resonating through the stone belly of the cavern. Such music grew somber, heavy with grief yet imbued with wistful warmth, as if the spirit tapped them by force from the bowels of the mountain, that saw so much suffering and resignation within the Barrier.

Thus he spoke: "I cannot soothe thy pain, Asgore, but with words and chant. Thy vision is blurr’d by such sorrow, by turbulent past and uncertain future, but I glimps’d beyond the haze a truly so radiant light: thee and them in your halcyon return to the rays of Sol. Let the sweet melody quieten thee then, and thinkest about what lieth ahead.

“Behold, bare feet soft treading on a fresh lea of emerald tufts. Lustrous manes alighted like fire, whereupon the belov’d star shineth. The heavens of morn refulgent, and of dusk ever bright. Beauty unripe, never pleas’d in appearance only, for the heart was never so jolly.

“Fie the troubl’d past, slowly slipping far and away, thou shalt leave it behind. Bitter tears thou shalt shed nevermore, and if ever cries have to be pour’d, they shall be dew drops, nectar on the lips, honey on a wound.

"Cheer Asgore henceforth, whatsoever happeneth know that the road never endeth, even before death that everyone reapeth. Rejoice Asgore, for there is still hope. There hath always been."

The music slowly faded. Although his eyes were still dull and sunken, his mouth curved into a hesitant smile. “You have no idea how much I want to believe what you are saying. That is why I accept it. I will face this trial, even if I would die trying."

* * *

[Kingdom of Burmecia - A Melancholy Tribute to Final Fantasy IX](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_TRgeJNqGk)

Asgore took just a few bites out of his meal, refusing to finish it. He refused also to take the staff, yet he asked for the sack with the souls. Ioreon agreed, and returned to lead the party.

Their whereabouts were likely a drained magma chamber or an emptied aquifer. What was left of that immense carcass was an irregular stone arch, toothed high above, like the mouth of a behemoth that would lead them in its meandering innards. With intense gaze, armed with provisions and courage, they entered the throat of the beast, where light hardly penetrated.

The path with concave walls sloped gently, booming the sound of their every step. With the exception of those that broke the stillness, the surreal dead silence would drive a man mad.

The staff in Ioreon’s hands became like a beacon to reveal the end of the groove, soon looking out over a precipice, opened on a vast expanse sadly devoid of all life, dotted with columns scattered on the horizon. Even sounds impressively deadened.

Skirting the rough bumps, lowering themselves gingerly, they reached the arid plain, where there was not even an alabaster or a crystal to break the monotony of black and opaque hard stone. Shadows danced at the sizzling beacon, akin to strange presences that infested those natural dungeons.

They were not aware anymore of how deep they went.

"I hope we are not lost, Ioreon."

"’Tis so, if thou think so. I am baffl’d by this underground, creating some kind of interference. I still sense the soul however, resounding there somewhere."

No time to say that, they had to stop all of a sudden. What looked like a drop was nothing more than the crumbling armor of a tall pendant bar, delimiting deep down below rapids that streamed pelting and mightily, slamming with violence against spurs and boulders, squeezing in yet another narrow tunnel.

Asgore stooped to look at the rising white foam, water drops soaking his cheeks.

"It occureth to me that the groundwater of old aquifers all floweth hereunder, and ventureth underneath the side of the cave. If therein pressure poureth out water to surface, could this be the way the child’s body follow’d, whilst heading to the leap in the open, I wonder?"

The King did not answer, still intent on watching the power of water, inexpressible and incessant.

"If such is the case, the soul is closer than what envision’d," concluded Ioreon, and walked away.

The abyss absorbed the thoughts of Asgore, engulfed by the shadow again, now that the light of the staff receded. It was like it was speaking to him with its disjointed loud gurgling, strangling in its blind rush. An endless and inescapable darkness, not even lit by a spark.

He backed away from that which hid everything, even his hands dirtied with rubble and his aghast expression. He whirled, as far away from that piercing noise. Not far from him, he found again the glitter, almost going blind before the glow of Ioreon’s eyes, perhaps even stronger than the staff itself.

They walked toward the direction of the torrent, realizing that even that hall had boundaries. The roof curved in, closing vertically in front of them. Ioreon came near it, surveying the rough texture with his left hand, and knocked a few times.

"Stayest aback, this is one of those times," he said then to Asgore.

A focused shot of light from his palm drilled through the wall, creating a circular passageway of several meters that ran down to another inner room. Awaiting them was the continuation of the natural culvert, an immense high-rise rocky hallway supported by pillars, keeping within a truly spectacular system of suspended stone bridges, some intact, some broken down to pieces, reaching every visible corner. The strong pulse of the rapids was right below them, so close that they could almost touch them.

"It soundeth like the bridges continue along the way of the rapids. I am confident we are close to our layover, and at the risk of them being slippery, our steps must be careful, mifriend. I want find thee again not in a situation the likes of the Garbage Dump, if not even worse."

His voice was enough to bring down an unstable stalactite. “And I said all.”

Asgore was transfixed with a pensive gaze, and it was well before the collapse. Only the ethereal hand on his shoulder seemed to redeem him from his torpor.

“I find thee quite absent-minded for a while now, Asgore.”

“I am sorry. Lead the way.”

Ioreon stared at his eyes for a few moments, then levitated away from him, sensing with his staff a solid path where Asgore could climb on. Now clearly they were suspended on the rapids: a jump too short or too long and Asgore would relive the experience of the Cave of Gerson.

Fortunately, the intact bridges were more than enough to allow his crossing, only a few times he had to jump from one to another. Some collapsed over the loss of their support eroded by water, others after mere vibrations on the columns. Ioreon stopped just before the end of the hallway, where the roof went down, arching sharply in yet another channel.

He waved the staff upwards, pointing a spot above their heads. "Come to me Asgore, she is up there. I hear her singing."

Asgore emotionless nodded, and clung to him as he did times before. Thus, they flew up at the very last, moving away from those cries of disaster. A faint glow shone on top, a source of light in the claustrophobic shaft where they darted fast, where rancid air could not evacuate. At least for them, salvation was at hand.

But both were absorbed in other thoughts. Asgore, despite his joviality, spoke in trunked monosyllables, and this could only unsettle Ioreon. And if his inextinguishable torches could talk, they would emit worry over what might erode his companion’s willpower.

"Asgore, why thou fell in such stillness? Thou canst tell me."

"Ioreon, thanks for your concern,” – Asgore snapped out of his impassivity – “But strange thoughts continue to assail me. For what they represent I fear what awaits me, but this is a challenge I have to face alone. Please, don’t worry about me."

The spirit fathomed. And they spoke no more.

* * *

[Demon's Souls Remix - Abandoned by God](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOWxjBrrPvY)

The shaft skewed gently, opening radially on an incline. At first steep, it evened out little by little until Asgore could continue on foot. Presumably one of the extinct venting rooms of Mount Eboot, it was no less damp than the underground tunnels. He bent over the ground, touching the warm soil, coursed in places by brooklets that fell into the vent they had left. A light breeze came from the front, scented with sleet and laden with bluish pollen.

The glimmer that had accompanied them was still weak, a meager beam that barely managed to wander up to them. They followed it, crouching as they moved beneath the low ceiling.

The constraint loosened to a rocky dome, where they could stand upright again. Numerous tendrils articulated under it, protruding from a slit in the top, a hidden skylight. The faint ray seeped from there, illuminating a small grassy clearing where sat a polished stone, silver-like under the light. All around was the swallowing black shadow, except for the glowing mosaic of surrounding echo flowers.

There, floating amidst that garden, on that island suspended in a dismal water, was the soul.

It was still, blue as the sea, blue like the petals of flowers all around. It did not even gave a beat, as if in contemplation.

Asgore kept Ioreon from going ahead. He went alone.

Just a step forward was enough for the soul, which uttered a single beat. A harrowing thorn punctured the King.

“You are the source of these visions, now I know. I hear them echoing incessantly in my head, ever more vivid and intense. Why you do this only now? What just happened?” he timidly asked, already knowing the answer albeit not completely.

A sad dirge rose from the echo flowers, that of an angel's voice, wavering and quivering.

A grimace of pain blurred his view. Asgore held his hand to his chest, clenching enough to hurt his knuckles. His heart beat so hard it seemed to explode inside him.

Solemnly, silently, he made his way through water and flowers until he reached the soul. Pollen whelmed in a cloud of sapphire. A scene so vaguely familiar.

He knelt before it. “What happened to you?” he repeated, the only thing he managed to exhale, as if downtrodden by an invisible anvil on his shoulders. The soul gradually took refuge in his arms, and answered his question in its own way.

At each nearing inch, its last moments were evoked, like a whirl of poignant emotions, and excruciating sorrow at the end. Asgore burdened himself with all of it and grieved, a new consciousness that folded him in half in an inconceivable sob, as if he saw the world shattering with his own eyes. Unbearable became anguish, a last word burst from a tormented beat: Nevermore.

“What have I done?” Words broken by tears.

“What have I done?” Falling like rain on blue petals.

“You didn’t deserve any of this! None of you deserved any of this…”

Nothing could do the spirit, other than kneeling beside him in turn and drawing close, covering themselves under his wide mantle as an attempt of lulling him, in vain.

"Erelong, erelong… we shall all together come back home…" he whispered, raising his gaze toward the dim God ray that unflickering descended upon them.

Amidst the sound of shallow streams rushing by, it shined, seemingly overwhelming even the burning eyes of Ioreon.

And to their intense surprise, peace came from the crack above. It had the fragile yet so perfect form of a snowflake, caressing Asgore's cheek, leaning on his cold wrist. 

 

Vérane – Through rapids of Waterfall, 360x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is a snowflake,  
> A free-falling star,  
> A fragile reminder  
> Of all that we are.
> 
> Born of a raindrop,  
> Laced by the breeze,  
> Spinning through space,  
> Dancing through trees.
> 
> A diamond of light,  
> A gem in the sun,  
> A journey of hope,  
> A new life begun. 
> 
> (Life is a Snowflake – Charles Ghigna)


	7. VII – Surging Exaltation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy dear readers.  
> After the latest chapter, may I say that sentimentality was never my forte? Oh well, I tried.  
> Not only that, my aseptic writing revels in these two characters (am I the only one thinking that Asgore hides his disheartenment under a facade smile?). I know it might get somewhat boring, but on the other hand, an old acquaintance will make its appearance (not in this chapter but the next).  
> Of course, according to someone I am probably taking all the fun away from Frisk. Duly noted, but still there are some things that a child should not see. I did not rate it “M” for anything. Anyway, I have not forgotten them, after all Frisk has set in motion the events I am narrating. Fear not, they will have their appearance too, and their importance will grow accordingly (in a prospective sequel).  
> So, without further ado, I give you the seventh chapter, pacier than the previous one. Enjoy the read.  
> ;-)

With the fourth soul now secured, Ioreon had to motivate the protruding roots in the narrow slit to crush the stone around them and enlarge it enough so to pass through it. A snow spray, now tumbling down the knees of a broad peak, marked their escape.

They found themselves standing on a sort of pseudo-mountain, fused at the summit with the vault of Ebott, hidden from sight, emerging white hooded, crowned with gray clouds and girded by bare and steep flanks. A gust of cold wind lashed face and hands of Asgore, glimpsing the dense fog below in the valley and small snowflakes dotting the sky. His mood was not so much warmer than those icy slopes.

“Only one place comes to mind with this kind of climate,” Asgore said. The King cracked his shoulder joints, aching for the long ascent. “Snowdin is near.”

“Aye, albeit ‘tis far hence.”

“It does not matter, anything is better than staying here,” the King said dismissively.

“As thou wish,” the spirit replied bluntly, still not wanting to aggravate matters further. He promptly strode sideways, keeping the high peak to the left, heading where the slope went down. Once again, they made tracks.

The thick mantle of snow, unperturbed by the levitating Ioreon, opened up to Asgore’s gait, resolved like a snowplow. The mountainside deceived them with that short stretch of slight declivity, broken several times into craggy asperities. Drafts whistled through the cracks where the King clung to, in order to reach the opposite edges. Although his thick fur protected him, he shuddered whenever his clawed feet scraped ice sheets.

With a little luck and lots of patience, they landed on the undermost mountain pass, where spruces thrived and the way was walkable. Flailing between stings of leafy branches against the body, Ioreon unscathed and Asgore bruised and shivering, they reached relatively quickly an old beaten path, interspersed with fallen boulders.

Although in the Underground there was no sun, by the time they arrived to more uniformed traits, after shrubs and ruggedness, strangely that little light that lingered had fatally obscured itself. The forest grew sparser, and already they could see the entry for Waterfall on their left and houses silhouettes on their right. Snowdin awaited just beyond a light mist.

["Snowdin Town" Undertale Orchestral](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0Q-fj6mV3U)

“I have never been so happy to see the town,” Asgore said, shaking off the snow on the head.

"By the look on thy face, it seemeth not so,” Ioreon said, receiving a snort from Asgore as a response. “In sooth delight is priceless in this place, but cold clambereth tenaciously, wherefore we'd better ensconce. Thou saidest about Grillby’s, if I recall well."

“You remember well. It is spacious and provided with a replete pantry. Perhaps it is our only guarantee against frostbites.”

“Thereanent, the Underground ceas’d to be a hospitable place. Venturest with discretion. In the meantime I shall try the surroundings, for I cannot clearly perceive the next soul, amidst all this ice and stone.”

“Are you serious?” Asgore raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Come on, you've already done more than enough Ioreon. Take your time, you have every right to relax yourself a bit!"

"There are no pangs of hunger, nor grips of thirst, nor weight of fatigue vexing those living in the Hyperuranion, so worry not. I shall search around hither and yon the soul, but I shan’t relieve thee of the onus and honor to recover them all, mifriend. ‘Tis justly a courtesy to thee, for thou hast enough problems to lose."

"Ioreon, botheration!"

"Complain not for once thou hast not to work. The warmth shall do well at least."

“You are the only one that has not stood still so far.” The King shrugged. “Well, I will do as you say."

"Aye, thou oughtest to, and thou shouldst eke warm what is thereout and above all what layeth inside thyself. Fare thee well now, I take my leave of thee. I shall come to Grillby’s anon."

So, after saying goodbye, Asgore reluctantly went on alone, moving past the last patch of haze.

The town laid placid, immersed in the white stillness of snow-covered hills. The wind no longer beat, the buzz of people was not heard anymore, as well as doors opening out and banging, the crackle of campfires and the sizzle of lamps. Although no lights brightened it, nevertheless the savored atmosphere of lightness had never abandoned Snowdin.

As he walked towards the renowned pub, memories of when he visited his eagerly awaiting subjects, dressed as Santa Claus, resurfaced. The sight of the two skelebros’ house managed to get a smile out of him. Every abode was now empty, but his mind still sought the squeaking lanterns moved by the wind and the lights of the fair.

The snow kept on falling, falling from the branches of pine trees that he imagined adorned with the most garish decorations. Stomping the sleet, smelling the delicate scent of the hawthorn, it was almost like the ancient perfumes, coming out of windows, still hovered in the neighborhood.

Yet a thought was always there, deterring him to stay serene, tapping in his head.

_Nevermore._

Still he remembered the words he heard earlier. His every step was like a drumbeat.

Asgore felt more and more mixed feelings.

_Nevermore, a word so ambiguous and so stinging. Even what is around me, it’s no more, belonging only to the past._

The footsteps grew wider, the darkness, bolder. He saw lost in the shadows his imponderable melancholy.

_None of them has faded though, they just moved elsewhere. It is really worth staying here now, drowning myself in memories when instead I could enliven them in their company?_

The more they traveled away from New Home, the stranger that journey became, as if they were rolling headlong into a gloomy valley. Although his few certainties seemed to crumble, he knew he had to keep going for all of them.

But if there were anything that threatened to shake one of the few strong ties that accompanied him until now, it was there. Just before he could reach the wooden walls of Grillby’s, he noticed adjacent to it a row of sparse broken twigs, heading to another block of houses.

The traces revealed that something heavy broke them, dragged over them. Sheltered by the sloping roof, they were partially covered with snow, too old to look like something that happened recently. He followed them anyway, suspicious, as would do any good King worried about everything concerning the circumstances of his subjects.

As soon as he saw in the distance the river that flowed peacefully, the twigs ended at a wooden pier, half-buried by the snow. It would not be anything unusual, if not for the crude carvings on it.

His curiosity got the upper hand, and he swept away the snow on the writing with a fiery touch, making it enough clear and understandable.

“Beware of the man… who came… from the other world.”

Asgore felt his blood run cold. “Why they felt the need to write such a thing? Who might be this man? What if… No, it can’t be…”

His old suspicions, at one time dormant, resurrected with their cruel glare. “It must be a mistake! A bad joke! There’s no way it’s him!”

He cowered, in hopes of unseeing what he had seen, the lines of writing blurred by the distance. “Maybe it refers to someone else, someone else in fact! But… who else might come from the other world?”

He stumbled, finding himself in front of the twigs, crushed and swept away, which seemed to cry out an attempted crime. One sudden burst of anger tried arrogantly to explode and blow up the pier to pieces, but he suppressed it, terrified at the thought of what happened when he indulged in it long time ago.

He strode away.

“They are just the ramblings of a madman, nothing else,” he briskly said, aimed at convincing himself.

He let go his held breath only when, after prying the lock open, he entered the pub and slammed the door forcefully.

* * *

[Esto Gaza - A Tribute To Final Fantasy IX](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UftuzPUf1EY)

Grillby's resembled a sanctuary, now that the shivering King rekindled the fixed chandeliers and lamps all around with his magic. Almost nothing else was left in there, apart from the bar counter, a few broken tables and chairs and torn pillows, perhaps for the hasty departure of everyone.

He placed the sack on the counter and went on looking for something else remained untouched. The door to his left with ‘fire escape’ written on it caught his attention. Since no one would have thought to come back here for whatever was beyond it, he decided to open it.

Just in case, he wrapped himself in a cloth of magical flames and turned the doorknob. Nothing happened, except for the clang of the opening door.

After he extinguished the flames, he explored the closet. Apart from the shelves and the hooks on the wall, only the spiraling stairs, probably leading to the pantry, were of interest. He made his way there actually finding something, though much had already succumbed to the clutches of time.

Glamburgers, fries, bacon, eggs, legumes, butter, breads of various shapes, moldy or petrified. And even yet bagged cakes, dried sausages, pumpkin rings, some packet of delicious golden flower tea. Unfortunately, there was not even a bottle of ketchup left, but Asgore had little to complain, those provisions would last for the entire round trip and beyond. He gathered everything he could, climbed the stairs and went again to the ground floor. For once, he desired a worthy feast to forget everything.

He smashed into smaller pieces the table and chairs remains, amassed them roughly in the fireplace to the side and set them on fire. With that last device, Grillby's reached the degree of illumination and warmth that made it so enticing to passersby. He already felt at home.

After pulling out of the sack all the necessary to set up the camp, as he poked once in a while with a stick all sorts of groceries frying in butter, a sudden longing ate away at him.

A strange desire, more than anything. He glanced at the sack for a few moments, but he drew back, looking back at the fireplace.

Then the desire grabbed his sight again, and it became a need. For far too long he neglected them.

He got up and went there, taking out the four containment cylinders, with the four souls floating serene. Very carefully, he carried them to the fireplace and laid them on a soft bed of blankets and cushions prepared as needed. The small glowing hearts trembled, and began to spin, some more vigorously, like that of kindness, and some lethargic, like the souls of perseverance and integrity.

He crouched in front of them, arms resting on his legs. He reserved them a grin as wide as ever, finding consolation right away.

"Howdy my beloved! It has been a long time since I stopped by. I'm sorry for not devoting you the time you deserved, sure it doesn’t seem very exciting to stay put in a dark bag. But fear not! Soon Ioreon and I will do the impossible, reunite you together with your bodies, can you imagine that?"

He stood enraptured seeing the soul flinching, their maneuvers inside the cylinders, but they did so whenever he spoke to them, countless times. He watched them unsure, unaware if they managed to understand what he was saying, or even hear his voice at all.

Against all odds, he still tried in hopes of instilling a bit of optimism, though he had a hard time believing it himself.

"It's like one of those fairy tales I told you. Finally a happy ending after a life of great hardship. You’ll see again the sun, run through the fields and play football, swim in the sea and ski in the mountains... and you'll have again a mother to embrace. Yes, I will take you all to her. It's been too long since you came here, you are almost a part of a distant era! People will look at you in wonder, as if you had traveled back in time!"

The souls had subsided, leaning against the wall of the cylinder. Then immediately ran around like crazy in their small space, rolling in phenomenal spirals. It nearly broke his heart to see them locked up in there.

"Sometimes I wonder what crossed my mind… Could we have adapted to live bound in the Underground? Or should I have gone myself to look after some frail human, with a frightening power in my hands? In either case, I would have certainly spared you centuries of captivity."

The souls now stopped, and shuddered again. Suddenly they swung, left and right, the green soul the most frantic of all, enough to occasionally bump into the walls.

"Easy, easy! Why are you so agitated? Do not distress yourselves darlings!"

And so they did, standing still in an instant. Asgore gasped in surprise. "Wow! I didn’t remember you being so receptive!"

"Thou art having fun, I see."

"What the…" Asgore jumped back, falling to the ground with his own rear. "Ioreon! Why don’t you warn me instead of jump scaring me every time?!"

"Accept my apologies,” – a giggle slipped out of him – “But ’twas most lovely seeing thee talking with them. I had not the heart to interrupt, yet always loometh that unknown variable that is time. We shall savor this moment and let ourselves a little rest."

"It’s about time! You are always so busy, never enjoying a moment of peace..." Asgore refrained from saying anything more, like the newfound suspicions he tried to push in a corner.

"I cannot glean this kind of concept, but I shall try. So then, I descry that the souls have not lost their vitality. Am I right, lads and maidens?"

The souls actually did jump out of their skin, excited by the coming of the spirit.

"I hope I have not scar’d you. Surely, these cylinders are not soundproof."

"Don’t say, they can actually hear what we say?" Asgore said, leaning on the mantel of the fireplace to get up.

"Forsooth, they are not deaf! 'Tis certain they apprehend not all the things said, but rather they perceive the tonality of voice, its rhythm, its tone... Not for naught, what they favor the most is melodious singing and harmonious music.”

"Oh my, that's great! I did all sorts of things to make them feel not alone! Then about that, my attentions were good for something?” he addressed directly the souls who at that resumed to swing, this time up and down.

"Apparently this is a ‘yes’," concluded Ioreon.

"Golly, my fatherly instinct didn’t abandon me!" Asgore hopped with joy like a child who just received his first bicycle.

"Clear as the sun you get on quite well, jumping the same way. Thou simply makest more noise, Asgore."

"Hey!"

"Just a joke mifriend. Oh, and what do I spy with my eyes?” Ioreon said, pointing the aforesaid to the frying groceries. "Heavens, thou shan’t surely starve! Didst thou find a mine down here?"

"Well, who in his right mind should come back this far to retake it?" Asgore ran his hand through his hair.

"Well well now, I see thy concern, and so be it. Enjoyest a big feed I say and be swift! For thou seemest always incautious with food, unless thou like it well smok’d, thou know.”

"A-ha, not this time! Everything is under control!" Asgore flung himself on the handle of the pan and put it on the mantel. “See? Golden just right!”

Ioreon nodded, uttering a snicker of satisfaction. He watched intent Asgore, glee engraved in his face but betrayed by the rue in his eyes staring blankly into space. As usual, a snap of fingers, and a new melody winded the air around.

[The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim OST - Around the Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UdpQnjfP-7g)

“Now sadness begone! This place convivial once was, it urgeth for music and applause!” Ioreon declared.

"Another piece of aged music?” Asgore raised his eyebrows and looked at him stunned. “Oh, well, at least it improves the atmosphere!” he said, and let out a hearty laugh. The souls too, as expected, took the opportunity to circle and twirl, dancing in their own way before that one man’s play.

A faint sweetness swept away the dullness of the King, swallowing beans sauce, eggs and glamburgers with melted cheese, moving hands and fingers following the tempo. Far were those days of fun and carefree sound, but the hope that he might relive them again one day, and each upcoming day of his life, kept his morale high.

“I know this venture is a trouble to thee, yet gazest at it joyful,” the spirit interjected, attracting Asgore’s attention. “As ‘tis said, that labour we delight in, physicketh pain.”

“Even so, this journey started easy and now I find it hard.” Asgore did not cease to watch the souls dancing. “Not having understood the nightmare of their broken lives… It just weighs on my conscience. The solutions that came up to me were one worse than the other, my subjects would never accept an unconditional truce. Really, would I had crossed the Barrier to kill with my very hands?”

"Lo! I once again tell thee, thou didst well to wait, on trepidatious hold for the Angel that would prove to every monster that none is lost and peace can be reach’d. It took six of them woe to us, but the seventh hath shown that there is always a glimmer of light. Behold how they brighten’d indeed, too sad would be to relegate them in silence till the end.”

After staying up all that time, he eventually sat down next to Asgore, sated by his meal. “Now, no longer feelest bound depending on thy past. Upon opening the Barrier, thou receiv’d then not a death sentence, besmirch’d in blood alone, but a life lesson, rewarded with freedom!"

Although his echoing voice was still expressionless, a clear laugh from his heart had a taste of spontaneity that almost shook him, in a good way. Asgore relaxed his muscles, and let out a mighty yawn, happy with the course taken by their stay.

Calmness now settled, the souls also tried by tiredness, they went back to a religious composure, apart from some other thrill here and there, too much excitement in one evening indeed. This time it was Ioreon doing the honors, watched closely by Asgore while he lifted the cylinders and put them again in the sack, rhyming as a final act:

“Most precious is company, I clamour it exultingly! No greater delight in life is here, but to cherish the heart of whom you’re glad to hear! Yet a long day tomorrow us tarrieth, a missing brother on us all relieth! That said, remain steadiest, for now I put you to bed coziest!”

Thus they had a last thrill and smoothed again in their cylinders, the shadow of the closing hems wrapping them secure.

“One could end up mistaking you for their nanny,” Asgore said, laughing up his sleeve, though touched by his delicacy.

“Whereas thou thinkest about thy nanny goat.”

At that, Asgore burst out laughing along with the stentorian chuckle of Ioreon. “Well, how could I ever forget her? I wouldn’t be able after everything I have seen, still reminding me of her.”

“And who told thee to forget her?” Ioreon added, sitting down again, this time in front of the King, now dazed. “The old that is strong doth not wither, deep roots are not reach’d by the frost!”

“Oh my. You really think so, even for the two of us?”

“In my humble opinion, thou would pine for her far too much by just being away. So, aye.”

“This, somehow… heartens me,” Asgore said, then shook his head, a blushing painted on his cheeks. “Gosh, just let’s change the subject, can we?”

“Oh. Good enough.” Ioreon got the message after a light cough from Asgore. “Well then! The crest of Snowdin hath turn’d unruly. Lamentations I heard in the wind, screams of defiance and cries for vengeance in the air. The ground was feverous and the snow unquiet. Yet, enshrin’d in cliffs, upon the forest of firs, I found resonating the soul of bravery.”

“The way you tell it, it does not bode well at all.”

"Falter not mifriend, fate anything shall do but smile at us if we stay steadfast! Now pay heed, ere resting thy sight. Heights are whiter, snow covereth the slopes till the bottom. Our path highly shall go, and weather shall prove itself a perilous hindrance as we run into intense cold, ere descending to the old ruins. Lest we leave unprepar’d, as hereby some trees still abide, each of us ought to bring along a bundle of firewood to preserve our magical energies. They shall prove useful to thee, if cold should bite right into the flesh."

"Alright then, we will have a hard time.” Asgore rubbed and clapped his hands, resigning himself to the pressing prospect. “This worries me no doubt, but no sacrifice is too great at this juncture. The mountains will not prevail."

* * *

Asgore woke up, disturbed by the sound of the beating wind, shaking the window fixtures. He massaged the back of his head, his body full of pins and needles after tossing and turning several times in his sleep.

One thinks better with a full belly, but sleeps worse. He got up, deeming appropriate to not burden himself further with a hearty breakfast. He scratched his abdomen, filled his travel teapot with some water taken from one of a variety of bottles left behind on the counter, and warmed it in his hand on fire, enough to infuse the tea bags.

He poured it into his chipped cup, watched the ashes still smoldering in the fireplace, took a sip and turned his gaze to the wide window. The world outside appeared bleak yet again. The wind whirled hammering. It was barely snowing, but threatened to worsen.

Ioreon appeared all of a sudden at a point of the pub, as if he had always been there, as he always did. Asgore restrained at least from wincing and spilling tea all over himself.

"Howdy Ioreon," he said, after a sip of tea.

"Oh, thou art awake. Well met! I took the trouble to expedite things,” the spirit said, pointing out two bundles of wood placed in a corner. Asgore yawned unconscious.

“Verily, the weather forebodeth ill."

"Quod erat demonstrandum, and you know,” – he took another sip – “One of these days you have to explain me how can you possibly materialize yourself as you wish and so casually. You’re giving me the creeps."

"Belike is’t untimely to tell? My, thou might not understand, first thing in the morrow. Come now, ‘tis not the hour to quibble on physical cosmology and quantum of planes, we should expect a very pernicious peak, mifriend!”

Ioreon anticipated Asgore’s reaction, shrugging and then rousing at the fullest. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, and with a last sip emptied the cup. "Give me a moment to get dressed up."

"Takest thy time. Can I reassure myself that thou art ready physically and mentally for aught shall expect us? For indeed nature all around seemeth to have taken a life of its own, opposing the two of us with a likewise will, which is cruel and fell."

Asgore sighed, while applying the joints of his armor. "Well, maybe I no longer fell so ready right now," he said, grinning apprehensively.

"Pray, let me be by thy side! We shall find the suitable paths to our climb and resist the weathering elements. Let thy royal spirit bursteth out!"

"Golly, if you put it that way…” the King answered in kind, fixing the last lace of the cuirass in place, putting his crown in the sack on his shoulders, just in case. “Well, where is my bundle?"

* * *

[Antti Martikainen – Across the Highlands](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OroItxzYbQ)

The upcoming day was clear until, after easy and unobstructed walking, they came to the feet of the mountains, dwarf compared to the majestic Mount Ebott but great enough to rival the massifs of the Overworld.

A hint of a path at the foot of a cliff wall stood on the left, dominated by darkened rock walls. The two made their way, but soon the path became steep and bumpy. After scrambling across a slope, they paused on top of it for a moment to better study the surroundings. Asgore felt the sizzle of white snowflakes right on his nose, and decided to cover his head with a worn scarf.

They resumed their march, but after a few minutes the snow fell swirling and denser. With a flare shot forward, Ioreon created an air pocket in order to sublimate the storm before them. Fortunately, this evanescent tunnel gave them time to catch sight of a sheltered crack, a little further ahead. There they waited for about half an hour, when the wind had calmed down in part and flakes were falling slower and slower.

“No time to get here and I am already drenched. We are in the Underground and it snows, way too exaggerated on top of that! These peaks forgot that they are in the presence of the King, but they should know that my soul needs even more than a snowfall to stop!"

"Then let us continue mifriend, upwards to a safer place!"

So they left, but after they did an hundred steps, as if the storm had accepted the challenge, it returned to the assault. The wind whistled in Asgore’s ears, the snowstorm made him blind. He clenched his teeth, while he dragged on his feet, heavy as lead, plowing through the snow that had covered the path.

The silhouette of Ioreon was just meters away, yet Asgore was hardly able to recognize him. Snow was thick on his own hood and shoulders. Several times they had to flatten against the wall because the path narrowed, and several times again Asgore threatened to take a false step and plummet down.

At one point they stopped, suspicious of extraneous noise. The King ceased to breathe for a moment, enough to hear the screeching that blew along cracks and crevices and ravines around them. Then howls of boulders rolling down from the flanks and over their heads, soon crashing on the path. An occasional rumble presaged the fall of other stones, tumbling afar.

"We cannot go further beyond Asgore, I cannot drag thee under this uproar! The risk is too high!"

"Let's stop here where we are then, I’m afraid I cannot go on or back!" shouted Asgore with a trembling voice. The cold penetrated inside his armor, and he shivered visibly.

“Feckless to withdraw now that the blizzard rageth, no place a way back our ascent provideth shelter! But holdest on just a little, I see a roof’d alcove just some feet ahead!"

"I hope that it will protect us at least from the snow, as for the wind… I might even bear it!"

With some effort, Asgore pushed through the snow to reach the recess, while hidden memories of those places resurfaced. "We call them the Evercold Mountains, and never before I have seen this kind of outbreak of snow and storm," Asgore thought aloud, finally snuggling with his back against the rock. Slithering he sat down then, fatigued.

The wall above them faced east, and the ledge seemed to provide adequate protection against the caving in boulders. The gusts of wind continued to swirl imperious around them. Ioreon did the impossible to dampen the flurry, but it seemed it came from places far too hidden to locate and sedate, so he contented himself with raising a solid embankment to divert it.

"Verily these mountains play tricks!" Ioreon was still struggling in lifting the ground to an appropriate height.

"How about I light a fire?" said Asgore now that the shivers seemed to have subsided.

"If thou canst, definitely! Puttest the hearth next to the wall, the heat shan’t disperse."

Asgore did not need to be told twice, he stacked his bundle and lit it, rapidly catching fire. Snow all the while covered the embankment, but had no way to penetrate in this small haven. They gathered around the firelight, wood burning cheerful, and the red light was playing on tired and restless Asgore’s face, while his hands warmed near the flame.

"I wonder when it will stop, but apparently it has no such intention," Asgore added, breaking the ice.

"I am in fact tempted to lunge at one side of the mountain to probe nooks and byways, hoping for a safe passage. Even if the storm itself caught me off guard, I should move quickly enough to come unharm’d."

"Don’t you risk to get engulfed by the blizzard?"

"I am willingly to take such risk. When the snow blanket shall halt down, the buried way may not reveal broken ground and edges on the chasm. Thou shalt lose too much time and strength to cling to the wall and keep from falling down."

"Well, if my memory occurred with effort serves me, going around the corner just ahead we leave the scarp to our right and run along the glacier, and then off we go through a defile that joins onto the next mountain. However we would end up with our heads uncovered to whatever falls upon us."

"If ‘tis as thee sayest, then all the more urgent is the need for a survey."

"Don’t dare so much Ioreon! I'd rather open a gate with my fiery hands than leave you at the mercy of the storm!"

Ioreon lowered his gaze to the bonfire, and closed his eyes. "Then ‘tis settl’d Asgore. We can theretofore mentally prepare ourselves for the next steps till the blizzard calmeth."

"I am pleased that you have listened to my words. Now I just need to know how and why the soul went up so far up."

"‘Twas not erst so stormy, and the child may have gone looking for something, to return never again. Not for naught, ‘tis the soul of bravery we are speaking of."

"Gosh Ioreon, I never stop me asking how I couldn’t see you roaming around my kingdom. You really know a lot about it!"

"Thou wonderest, Asgore… but still a spirit I am, so the whole world unfoldeth to me in an instant. Whilst I must confide thee that what I see is akin to mere pulsations. I distinguish but vaguely, and I am not aware of all possible changes that may occur in the meantime. Magic serveth me well, mine only way to interact with the physical world, with all the limitations it entaileth. Without it I can do naught, and thou wouldst say the same.”

"Fair enough. The important thing is that we get out of here alive.”

“About it I doubt not, mifriend. We just need to wait for the light to live anew."

* * *

The fire had already consumed the wood completely, but the now amassed heat vented slow to the outside, keeping the warmth until Asgore’s awakening. They spent roughly two hours since the gaze of the King grew tired of watching the flakes falling incessantly under the dark clouds of vapor, trapped under the vault of Ebott. With weary eyes, he noticed how clouds and wind tore and snow ceased its ill will. Slowly light seemed to increase despite the bleak and timeless atmosphere of the Underground.

Ioreon was the first to exit, pushing the embankment with all the gathered snow down the cliff, and both were witnesses to that silent and snow-mantled landscape. The vision now limpid, they could even see Snowdin beneath them. The same could not be said of the lane, covered with multiform and misshapen frost bumps, while wind had piled huge heaps of snow all over the wall.

"If all goeth well, the only snow we have to be worried about is that of avalanches. I might even fly with thee without risking thy death of exposure."

"Well, what an unfortunate fate!” Asgore wryly replied. “Anyway, I think it would be best to walk, at least in my view. If the soul is around here it won’t be easy to see from above, especially if stuck in some crevice like us."

"And I am the one that wanteth to risk! Howbeit, I shall accept thine advice, and let fire doth the breach. Let me go ahead awhile ere proceeding, we need thee not to stumble by mistake."

Before Asgore could reply, Ioreon catapulted into the air, bursting forth sparse fireballs, trying to not provoke unreasonably the mountain. Gradually heat thinned the domain of ice, showing the rocky ledge that they recalled. But the road they were following narrowed sharply before reaching the crossing, so to appear as a mild corrugation.

"Good news!” – Ioreon said to Asgore, floating ahead of him – “The pass is relatively unclutter’d, with some boulder betwixt. The journey however shan’t let thee go, for the path is nonexistent. Thus up to the ridge of the mountain I shall take thee, to continue on foot thereafter."

So he landed and turned his back to Asgore who shouldered the sack and clung to him. The spirit flew with his usual diligence to the designated place.

A cold breath heaved from the glacier beneath them, and a few unstable pebbles rolled down. Asgore put his feet on the ground and saw through the desolation the long pass, which forwarded furthermore towards the mountain range.

"Lower thy voice! The snow above and below us standeth for a miracle," Ioreon said to Asgore, who just nodded and followed him, being careful to the slippery residual snow mixed with water. Clumping, they reached the end of the defile, onto the next ridge, there where the wind died out.

The show was terrific in its calm balanced with catastrophe. They found themselves in the presence of a snowfield of colossal proportions, trapped in the basin formed by the ridges, an arena where silence reigned, and where it was a must.

"We are getting closer to the soul,” – Ioreon was whispering now – “I feel his vibrations, but I cannot perceive where he is exactly. Keep thine eyes open." Asgore closed his mouth shut for fear of impending disaster. Silence gives consent.

Already a few clumps of snow fell, sinking in places like the sand through an hourglass hole. It was ready to empty itself to the crevices underneath if an opportunity presented itself, one they well tried to not provide. Cautiously Ioreon probed the pile with his staff, with the hope of finding a viable route, at that moment concealed by the sleeping white giant. He dug the snow along the ridge, the only sensible solution, opposed to the edge of the hidden precipice.

But the mountains did not allow them to pass. Apart from the one whence they had arrived, all the other even ways were closed. Their movement would have been possible only upwards, but the wall was too steep and did not show any footholds. Turning back was out of the question.

Asgore collided with his nose on Ioreon, who stood still abruptly. A whispered verbal crossfire ensued.

“Ouch. Why did you stopped?”

“Art thou really sure thou want to continue on foot?”

“What is it now?”

"Ahead of us is a steep downfall."

“But, really! You said that the soul was close!”

“How close dependeth on how far thou art able to stretch the leg.”

“Don’t tell me…”

“The matter is, the soul throbbeth strongly, but beneath us. Either we unearth him, or hope he cometh at us.”

“Golly Ioreon, are you saying that the soul is buried under the snow?! How on earth could he get out on his own?!”

“Lackaday, lose not thy temper so easily, I am trying to defuse the issue. Let me think the moves to be made.”

“But… we just can’t stay here mulling around a potential avalanche!”

And so it happened.

It was matter of a moment, or rather a stone slab, pretty much a sizable chunk of a peak, that faulted and slid down with natural fluidity. A cloud of snow dirtied with debris announced its coming, and the sound of something sinking into the soft was enough to turn their head and gape.

[Antti Martikainen – From the Fields of Gallia](https://youtu.be/WBmFyRfwEiA?t=14s)

"Oh.” Asgore kept his voice down regardless. “Sometimes, I ask myself if someone is mad at us."

"Fie on it. And I guess it shall go down hill after that.”

Then came the deafening roar. The mountain eclipsed by the foretold avalanche.

“Asgore, my apologies in advance.”

“What? What are you…” His sentence ended muffled, as soon as Ioreon embraced his abdomen and tugged him with an up-thrust, just before the snow would take revenge on them.

Slides and slides fell down from the peaks, shook by the tremor. With a jolting movement, the imprinted force transformed the potential energy of the environment into kinetic one in the blink of an eye, crashing on the outcrops and spraying gloriously high.

“Tell me again why we got ourselves into this situation?!” Asgore managed to say something during their precipitous ascent.

“We shall talk of it later! Sharp thy gaze instead!” Ioreon said, straining his voice so to be heard.

Asgore snuggled his head in his arms, taking cover from a broadside thunderous spray that crashed down below. “You know, I have other problems to think about right now!”

“Aye, but ‘tis the soul that I speak of! I hear him, clearer and clearer!”

At that, the king changed his mind suddenly. He peered as the avalanche slotted into the defile, threatening the glacier over the pass, while the rest, unable to throw itself forward, flowed along the eastern side and went down. The resulting suction, other than splitting rocks and stones, spat out from the emptying arena an orange glimmer, a spark in his eyes, dragged by the course of events and seemingly unable to resist the current.

The spirit took the King up to the nearest repaired side of the mountain, with the avalanche in full sight from above. “Asgore, if we physically move, physics shan’t help us. With thee on me, I cannot move just as instantly,” Ioreon said, dropping him on the soft snow. “Follow the decline, hence it shall be easy, and chase the soul, and if necessary launch thyself! At the right time, I shall be there for thee!”

Ioreon let himself fall, going flying nap-of-the-flood, and then vanished. Caught off guard, Asgore grabbed the first rock ledge where his hand could reach to help himself standing up, suffering the noise of broken glass that the glacier made, crushed by the pressure, split in a storm of ice teeth.

“Darn it! I’d never expect such impulsiveness on your part!” he shouted in exasperation. “There’s a cataclysm in place and you just vanish down there?!”

But he did not do differently from what Ioreon said. “Let’s hold it as valid.”

He went, sometimes jumping, sometimes rolling, down the slope, coming to the once hibernated soul soon to be sucked into the defile. It tried and tried to flutter and leave, but the rapids of snow made it tumble with impunity.

Asgore had a lump in the throat, because he believed that human souls, even if powerful and resistant, were not invulnerable. He quickened his pace, plunging his hands in the sack and grabbing one of the last empty cylinders, terrified of dropping all the rest of its content.

He did yet another jump, bruising hands and feet, arriving already at the mouth of the defile. The path along the ridge was steep now, and only his strong arms could push himself forward.

The snowfield was emptying precipitously, the shooting deluge slammed upon obstacles and every corner of the pass, and then jumped above the glacier, down to the scarp. The soul was with it, picking up speed, ready to throw itself with the rest.

But the avalanche seemed to fork, divided by an invisible wedge that gave vent to it towards the sides. And shortly before the soul could come to the bifurcation, the wedge turned into a ramp, where the power of the avalanche reared up and flew over the glacier for a while, until it fell down again.

This slowdown was enough for Asgore to close the distance, jumping again and again, from one outcrop to another upon the defile. But the soul was still terribly distant.

It was within a stone’s throw of going straight to its death, but another prodigy came to the rescue: the invisible ramp seemed to shape itself into a curved path, a track that forced the course of the avalanche. It swerved at the top and then to the right, toward the stone ridge, on which earlier they flew over and whereon, even higher now, Asgore jumped like he was a hare.

His claws like picks stayed firmly on the stone, and he did not waver even if one arm was occupied in holding tight the uncovered cylinder.

The soul ran beneath him. He had a single try on his part now, catch the soul at the right time, or lose it below the icy waves.

"I really am too old for this!" he said, suspended between a crazy and impetuous act and the fear of not surviving that, hanging on the confidence of a spirit that said he would come to his aid.

 _Either all or nothing_ , he thought, and let go, his limbs outstretching like a spider on its prey.

Then he did not understand anything anymore. A dip in an icy sea, sodden anew with snow and mud, incapable of understanding and willing, tossed as he was. He spun and swirled, pulled by a surge which would break the bones of a human.

But the soul was beating so strong that he could even hear it with his own heart, inside the roar.

In one of the few occasions where he managed to rise his head to see the dark vault of Ebott, a quick glance was enough to see the soul, again hibernated in sleet, but inside the cylinder at least.

"Golly, I guess I got him!" he said entranced with his mouth open, the icy snow entering into it.

And when every change of escaping were coming to an end, Ioreon appeared as if he had always been behind him. He passed through him and caught him with a tangible arm, pulling him out of the mountain rage, which now poured without restraint and constraint where its blind will wanted.

“Bravo Asgore! When people say to put body and soul into something!”

"You ill-mannered spirit!" Asgore answered, sputtering the snow in his mouth. “You left me on my own! But anyway, thanks for the help!"

“In sooth I was sure that thou couldst do it, a fearless hero like thee would not just stand there to feel sorry for himself!”

“You sure know how to find the best excuses!” the King said, clinging to the back of the spirit that now soared graceful, bombing of explosions protruding spikes and basalt ridges that hindered the flight, kept as straight as possible to get away quickly, the avalanche now behind them.

“Marry! This somehow remindeth me of Cair Megiddo.”

“Are you kidding me? Here is much worse!”

The spirit gave a laugh. “Rather, thy Kingdom is becoming monotonous! It always endeth up being chas’d by something!”

“Gosh, you said it! And I still wonder why the souls haven’t just stood there in the throne room!”

“Come now, at least we had time to get acquainted.”

“Heh, that’s for sure.”

The trees were dragged in the heat, and those that remained planted on the ground were freed of all snow placidly lying over the branches. Their presence only served to complicate the route of Ioreon, having to descend in altitude without hitting right in the center the trunks.

The descent became extraordinarily steep because chasms in no way restrained the snow that lingered on downhill. It was like escape routes were built on purpose for that eventuality, curves and depressions conveying the roving disaster as a single mass. The enthusiasm did not spare branches and stones hanging in balance, bushes just disappearing to its advance. The basin waited for anything but even more sleet, but still hardly got close.

"Hey, how much we climbed again?! Looks like we are not close at all to the vale!"

“On that I paid no attention, for rather a feeling telleth me that despite everything the avalanche is losing its momentum. Too many obstacles along its run are slowing it down. Hold on, we shall come out of here before crashing against the firs of Snowdin!" Ioreon shouted to make himself heard in the bustle.

“Can’t you just fly higher than that?!”

“After a run-up, it shall be done! Bracest thyself, for I am going faster!”

He snapped forward with shocking speed, overcoming debris and new stalactites, darting between the majestic combers of snow that slid by now on the mountain knees. Asgore was unable to articulate his mouth, thrashed about by the headwind and opened like a kite. Now indeed the basin was approaching, but it was not yet time to rejoice.

A wide shadow approached behind them. The rest of the snow, which by rolling stayed back at the forefront, was now returning to the fray, threatening to hurl them down, but Ioreon right away went up with parabolic motion, leaving behind the sensational experience of being dragged by force into the ravine in a boom of epic proportions.

"Heck, too many feelings right now!" Asgore said eventually, rubbing his dilated mouth after putting the fifth cylinder in the sack. "Let’s just go away from here, I’m getting dizzy after all this flying!”

“So be it! We shall be out of here in no time!” he said and went down again, darting toward a lonely path in the dense forest, leading to a well-known location: the gates of Old Home.

 

Fion – Evercold Mountains, 675x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this world... it always ends up being chased by something.  
> Well now then, before you go, I wanted to say just two things.  
> I wanted to point out that each soul in each chapter has a story to tell. For those who want to hear yet another interpretation of their significance (in this story at least), you can ask and I will answer, but not before I have introduced them all.  
> Moreover, I thought that the way I am addressing the souls could create a bit of confusion. So, Asgore and Ioreon know their specific gender, this is intended. I maintain the use of the “it” pronoun to refer to the soul as an "object". Asgore learned of their circumstances after all those years, while (warning: headcanon) Frisk is still a “they” to him, because she was too young for the monsters to realize what their gender was (You know, “What's in your pants?! DETERMINATION!”).  
> I would have no problems in using “they”, mind you. I decided doing so because I thought would be confusing with all these new people. Also, I take advantage of this designation for a theoretical exercise of mine. There is more to come.  
> Ciao.  
> ;-)


	8. VIII – Hard-fought Acceptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy dear readers!  
> As my usual, I have to say something at the beginning of the chapter, am I right?  
> Well, I hope this story is captivating you. Unfortunately, I have not received a lot of feedback, so I am just stumbling in the dark about its actual reception.  
> Well, I understand if the way I write may not match your tastes, but! Since I made this commitment, I will carry on anyway until the end of the act. And to anyone who is following, you have my heartfelt thanks (and by the way, thanks for the kudos, they are very convincing in keeping on writing).  
> Really now, this chapter came out ginormous, dense with dialogues, fit for a wet blanket. Sooner or later I would have to deal with this hot topic. Not for nothing, the last and most difficult to reach is the soul of patience.  
> Beware now because, as someone pointed out in the past, “oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises”.  
> ;-)

The stone door swung shut crawling, creaking loudly till a dull thud. The voice of the wind died behind it, and ice and dangers concealed themselves from sight. The room they were in looked just like a cave, and ahead of it awaited a long-walled corridor, wettish yet balmy, the emptiness filled only by the squeak of Asgore’s armor, and nothing else.

"Darkness bindeth this place.” Ioreon lit up the staff as usual, and planted it on the ground. “And a vague yet fell presence is in the air…”

"What? Have you said something?" Asgore said, still emptying out of cold water the cylinder with the soul of bravery inside.

“Never mind,” the spirit said, banishing the thought. “But therewithal, we shall do well delving through, towards a less narrow and well-lighted rampart forthwith.”

“It is high time if you ask me, I need a soft place to rest my legs! After snow layers, climbs and flights, they are unbearably aching. Talk about a Boss Monster!"

"Ailments of the matter! Yet even these make thee feel alive. Come now, for I am sure thou rememberest this place."

"Sure, it was my house once. In front of it, there is quite a lovely patch of grass where we can stop. But I will let you pass first, I will do the honors when we arrive."

Ioreon nodded and gave a pat on his shoulder, just before gliding into the damp mist that prevailed down there.

Acrid moisture seeped in through the walls, light bounced off the curved roof and dim penetrated into the white evanescent blanket that, like waves of the sea, shied away from the airflow of the two travelers. Their shadows flickered frantically after the moving staff-torch, the steps of the King echoing blind off the walls when they passed through a door with his effigy, turned the corner, and came eventually to a staircase of cold stone.

They went up, and what disclosed itself on view, was for the King a return to the way things used to be.

[Undertale - Fallen Down [Orchestral Arrangements]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBTlAnF74aE)

His hand remained on the wooden handrail, as fixed as his gaze. He froze in the penultimate step, afraid even to rest his foot on the landing.

The house lied abandoned, stripped of its furnishings, its parquet rotted and moss covered, and if ever there were plaster on the walls or a coating on the stairs, they were dissolved. Yet he sighed whenever he caught sight of something, almost like everything was still in its place, its languid warmness still retained, sweet to his skin like the smell of her cakes.

"Asgore, what art thou doing there?"

The dazzle ceased after the spirit’s words. "Golly, I am sorry Ioreon. Arrived as I am in the house that belonged to me and my beloved Toriel… –” he sighed “– I had just one of those moments. One, intense, shining moment.”

He drummed his fingers on the handrail, up to grab the pommel on the post. “After long years, I am back in our home. Where she sought refuge for centuries of Reign until its end, and in which I never had the courage to enter again."

"And naught biddeth fair to be here,” – Ioreon said, turning around to see – “Naught, but memories. If they are cause of yearning we can leave at once, mifriend."

"No, wait. I just… I want to stay only for a little while, roaming its rooms hoping that they still have their smell, before get going again where the road takes us."

Ioreon took a long pause before answering. To the King almost seemed that he was glaring at him, even if it was just his impression.

"Feelest free Asgore, but delayest not in melancholy wherefrom is hard to get out. Be alert and attentive.” He opened the front door, the air of the Ruins seeping through it. “Thou shalt find me hereout."

Asgore took a deep breath, and made the last step.

The house was almost vacant, but he could vividly envision how every single thing was left nearly identical since they moved away, the exact way he reproduced in New Home. Viewing the care Toriel spent in the house, now devoured by the inexorable passing of time, was enough to make him wince.

He walked down the corridor to the left, opening the doors of the rooms as if to make them breathe air again. He saw Asriel’s room, that for a period was also Chara’s, where they played, drew, and dreamed, crying out their fanciful adventures. He lingered at Toriel’s bedroom, where once the dim light of the Underground came to wash her round cheeks. That emptiness meant too many overtones that his sight could bear no more. He walked away with a sniff, turning to the other wing of the house.

He saw the living room, lighter marks on the parquet where the feet of the furniture rested on, and the fireplace, where a piece of wood still remained, blackened and white split, dipped in ashes where mold could not root. He saw himself, sitting on the ground, telling stories to his two children while Toriel listened relaxed and smiling, knitting or with a book in her hands, next to a crackling heartily fire.

He went further to the kitchen, where she delighted herself with cuisine. Here, too, was empty, but everything materialized and relived in its every moment. He embraced the invisible Toriel, put his hands on the window, savored even the illusory fragrance of Butterscotch Pie.

Those visions and smells silently vanished. Wearily he returned to the living room and collapsed, his back against the fireplace, breathing the damp and the burned wood, but that in his mind turned into shimmers of sparkling and varicolored life.

Again they vanished, as he heartbroken put his head between his knees, alone, wallowing in his grief.

* * *

Another door closed on his past, with a resounding slam behind him, his back leaning against it.

The air swirled quickly into his nostrils, and then quieted. The sound of leaves on the wind arrived soothing, as he reopened his eyes and let them wander about the open space in front of him. It was dear to him, even if the tree had seen better days, still holding up a crown worthy of the name. He let out a puff, once realizing his memories had no intention to stop emerging.

Then he spotted Ioreon, just in front of the tree, his attention directed elsewhere.

 _Away from the door, away from the memories_ , he thought, and so he approached him.

The closer he came, the sooner he noticed that the spirit was in fact intent to conversing with someone else.

"Well, and what have we here?" the spirit said, but Asgore could not glimpse whom he was talking to.

[Undertale: Your Best Friend - Orchestral Remix](https://youtu.be/2zLkXiEpOw8?t=4s)

"Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the Flower!"

It sounded determined. He glanced at the source, a small dot at bottom of the earth, or rather a talking golden flower. A realization that was enough to puzzle his expression. A flower that he was sure he did not remember, but which had, at most, something familiar.

"Good morning to thee, Flowey. May I say ‘tis a surprise to find someone else in the Underground?"

"Golly, it's a surprise for me! I thought everyone was gone! I obviously cannot leave, I’m a flower, though of a special kind! Look at this!"

Far from being an uninspiring flower, Flowey gave shows of his incredible and funny facial expressions, sticking his tongue out to the spirit, who laughed amused. "A unique kind of a flower indeed!"

"Oh my, we are not alone here!” Asgore was now near, and jumped willingly into the conversation, seeing that that flower probably lived all by himself until then. “What are you doing here, little flower?"

Flowey grinned gaudily as soon as he saw him, but his expression dampened immediately in a playful embarrassment. "Hi there Goat king! You know, I just get bored. I am forced to stay here, see?"

"Verily we understood, sir Flowey,” – Ioreon said, as if was playing along – “As thou canst see we are tir’d of many crossings and thought we could pause awhile. The air is calm here, a good place to repose, methinks, under the shadow of a tree. Carest to join us?"

"Sure you two are strange, and you spirit with that way of talking are even more! What brings you to this neck of the Ruins, only you know. Oh welp."

"Yeah, but you did not answer the question!” Asgore said, putting his head closer to his. “Do you want to stay with us? Surely you too have felt sometimes the need to have someone to talk to."

"Gosh, what nonsense! I enjoy myself a lot already in my own way!" Flowey looked up to him proudly.

"By staying thyself alone? I thought thou saidst thou wert bored?"

"Er... well…” He looked away. “You often end up hating the time that never seems to go on..."

"Then let’s pass it together to tell us what's on your mind!" Asgore interjected, leaving Flowey speechless, his look dazed. He sighed, but tried to give a sincere smile. "If you two really want that so badly..."

"Of course we are! I cannot even imagine how boring is without ever talking to a living soul!" Asgore’s face lightened up, while Flowey just giggled nervously to that.

Ioreon did not feel compelled to say something, keeping his eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall in front of him. The golden flower shuddered for a moment, looking from the bottom up the spirit, but the latter softened his eyes, ceasing his entrancement at once. "I know I can appear ominous, but I am far from having bad intentions, Flowey. Plantest thyself then, wherever spot thou feelest appropriate. Asgore, we can live without fire for now."

"Sure, the air is not so cold in fact."

Flowey dared not to speak. He buried himself and soon came out close to the trunk, followed shortly by the King. Meanwhile Ioreon prepared a tablecloth with some snacks and dropped powdered coffee and dried tealeaves on Flowey roots. "Thus thou canst foster thy forces. Plants are ever greedy for these things."

"Well, thank you..." Flowey said, staring at the ground.

And so they arranged themselves in a circle, all three of them: Asgore with his sack, committed to finding any opportunity to look away from the house behind him; Flowey, wary for any reaction of the two; Ioreon, in alert for his own motives.  

The tension was evident, given the long silences alternating short factual statement, for example if the lunch was good or if the Ruins had always been so damp.

Eventually, Ioreon took the reins and cleared his throat, so to speak. "Thence, hast thou find what thou wert looking for, Asgore?” he said, awaiting a response.

"Oh come on Ioreon!” The person involved raised his hands and shook his head. “I am doing the impossible to think about anything else!"

"Inasmuch no one hath better arguments, it might be a good starting one. Thou shalt spill the beans, Flowey shall certainly be interested and, as for me, I shan’t regret the decision."

“That’s a wonderful idea! Whatever did you find Goat King?”

"As his usual, Ioreon has to meddle in... but okay! As he said, I found only memories in there. Even though I would not sell them for all the gold in the world, my poor heart is unable to bear them, still burdening on my soul."

"Oh, you mean... ‘those’ memories?" Flowey blanched for the surprise, if one can say so for a flower.

"Well, I think I have never met you before Flowey, so I do not really know if you heard about what shocked the Kingdom, and I am not speaking about the creation of the Barrier."

"Yeah, I can only imagine…"

"You see, I have, or maybe I should say I had, a wife. Her name is Toriel, sweet as the dew of pastures. With her I had a son, Asriel, the greatest gift that every father could wish for. Affectionate, warm, full of energy, with a perpetual smile on his lips. I did not care anymore to leave the Underground, when they were with me. But then, just think, even if we were already at the peak of happiness, through a crack in the mountain, another child was given to us, Chara. Ah, how much delight lived in this place! Their excitement filled our days, so much so we made the decision to move to New Home. Oh... I guess you know that I have never been a champion of originality with names.”

He bent his back, supported by his hands outstretched to the ground, his gaze lost in the tree canopy. “Either way, years passed, until one day a terrible accident happened. It dissolved all our aspirations, it shattered the hope that we would be reconciled with humans. My children laid dead, my wife left me, and I lost everything. Now that I see this place, I cannot help but think of those good times, so familiar, spontaneous, fresh and evergreen. Everything turned gray at the end, even our own, and then only mine, New Home."

Asgore distraught sighed. He opened his mouth, but he could not manage to say anything else.

Flowey all the while, just to show himself participating in his story, had obvious difficulties in producing a shred of emotion. His face, rather than by displeasure, seemed eaten away by anxiety.

"Da... er, I mean..." slipped out of his mouth, soon to regret it.

"Hmm? What is it son?"

"Son?! No wait, wait, hold on a minute…”

"What's the problem Flowey?"

"Nothing! Nothing… Don’t pay attention to me. I'm sorry for your loss, that’s that."

The King stroked one of his petals. "Thanks Flowey."

"Duty of a faithful servant!" the flower said, then grumbled, but he concealed that perfectly.

"Well, at least there’s still one considering himself so!"

Flowey did not know whether to laugh with him, or to hole up in a dignified silence. It was still nothing able to arouse his emptiness.

"Thereanent, tell me Asgore, what about thy life in the outside world? Hath it suited thee, or not?" Ioreon spoke again, after his taciturn absence and letting only those two to speak, as if to fade away from their attentions, but reappearing now since the surreality of the situation.

“Eh, a sudden change of subject, I see. Well, I tasted maybe a bit of peace, for a short period. My subjects have enthusiastically adapted, some more than others. I still recall when Undyne and Papyrus went around a forest, only to fall into a hole. You have no idea of my laughs when they told that memorable experience!"

“Ah, that is merry. Then again, why thou decided to come back in the Underground?"

"Golly, why are you asking this only now? That surely is a long story.” He returned to his starting position, arms hanging down on his thighs. “Anyway, seeing all of them finally realized, carefree to the new and infinite possibilities, it made me happy. But inside of myself I knew I would never be able to appreciate everything again. My sins haunted me and still continue to do it, so I thought wiser to disappear from their lives, especially those of the ones dearest to me. It is not my desire burdening people with my presence, and at least now I matter something. It was fate that brought me here."

"Fate. Why not a calling, instead?" Ioreon said, waving his staff on his shoulder.

"Maybe… maybe it’s a calling," Asgore replied, even more pensively.

Everything became quiet again. Flowey’s face was the most dispirited of all.

“Hey Old Man,” he said, catching Asgore’s attention. “Have you managed to cope with that ugly mess?”

He repeated this question countless times. And like many times before, he received nothing but a suppressed laugh, and one blank stare.

“I do not know if I managed. Maybe it was it to cope with me.”

He picked up a fallen leaf in his hands, feeling its veins on his fingers. "You see... since I lost my children, I changed. We were willing to age at last, happy that our son, Asriel, would have become the sum of our best parts. But he was killed, and dead was our adoptive daughter, Chara. Nothing has ever been the same.

“I made the folly of declaring that warring policy, and over time, I became aware of the repercussions and the horrific consequences that would have occurred and, as I myself did not want to witness the death of the little humans, the very thought of it tore from me uninterrupted tears. Although not happened by my hand, their deaths are my direct result. I still carry this burden to this day, as my wife reminds it. She hesitates to have me beside her. I felt her impatience even when speaking. But I still love her, madly, perhaps the main reason I came back here.”

He let the leaf fly away with the Ruins breeze. “To answer your question, in all my long years of reign my heart and my mind never ceased to be in tune, and by that I mean I have not overcome anything yet, and I think that even if everything falls into place at best, I will never be able nonetheless. Even if I never wanted any of this in the first place."

His speech had some variation, but was not so different from what normally Flowey heard all those other times, before getting bored to death. But now, there was another party to break the monotony.

"What have we said over and over again, Asgore?” He sit there, still moving his staff back and forth on the shoulder, his hood motionless. “Art thou yet prone to see everything but redemption? I lost count of the words I spent on such matter. Wouldst thou rather have condemn’d a whole Kingdom in distrust, despair and ultimately death, knowing that, as attun’d as you monsters are with your soul, ‘twas a problem no less important than the survival of the entire species? Pray, stop thinking about the past.”

“Gosh Ioreon, that’s not something that goes unnoticed, of course, but the gravity of what came next was insuppressible. It was all my fault, because of a too hasty decision that required further examination, and now I can only mourn the consequences.”

Asgore sought his gaze, hoping for his understanding, but the spirit merely raised the head. “Well! On this I agree with thee, but Vox Populi! The news of the Princes’ death were taken not lightly, none would accept a sweetener and overlook what happen’d, for people are stubborn in evaluating subtle circumstances. And dost not forget thine efforts for a bloodless solution, thou even hir’d scholars and scientists for finding one, in vain.

“For aught thou sayest, thine hands be dirty as much as thee want, temporizing was the only sensible move. As such thou quell’d tempers and foster’d hopes, let time ease the contrasts betwixt the two races and avert a new and imminent war, and last but not least thou indirectly bestow’d the fundamental task of reconciliation, right to a human.”

Eventually he looked at him, and his ever-burning eyes made him tremble. “This is why concurrently I abhor the words of the pure absolutist, to whom all violence is evil, when he ought to reach the compromise. Wanting not to besmirch himself, he leaveth so to let everyone else pay the price of that decision. How much immaculate thou shalt consider thyself at the end?"

The cadenced words seemed like brands of fire before Flowey in his total astonishment, who now looked at his father with different eyes. But the latter felt touched on a raw nerve.

“Did I heard correctly?” He challenged that fire with his own, imbued with his soul. “You would better explain the reason for that last sideswipe, because I have the feeling I know the person you are referring to. I fear that I have truly understood what you said.”

“Toriel,” Ioreon replied, impassive. “To whom else could apply what I have just said, if not her? This is what thy wife did, indeed. Even her actions were rusht and harbingers of misfortune.”

That was where he was heading. His expressionless tone sounded even scornful now to Asgore.

“Are you implying that my Toriel has been wrong in her decision? You know many things about me Ioreon, and I chose to tolerate it, but do not speak ill of my wife! She suffered greatly, and would have suffered even more standing next to one she didn’t recognize anymore as her husband!”

“Here is thy cross to bear. Thou, torn betwixt love and duty, preferring undaunted to bend to unreason and refuse to deal with the matter at hand, lost in the belief that she is flawless. But of one thing thou art right, she hath suffer’d more than most, albeit both of you were in positions contrary to your nature. I give her the due credit, for she was decisive in revealing to Frisk the goodness inherent in monsters. But whilst I understand her reasons, I endorse them not at all.”

“But what else she could have done? How can I ever forgive myself in letting down my beloved Toriel? I was supposed to be near her, clasp her in my arms and gather her tears. I pushed her to flee, dammit! She couldn’t stand that the humans would die whenever they arrived in my presence!”

“Neither could thou. Thy solicitude is commendable, but all must come to terms with their own choices. Thou hast chosen a bitter resignation, while she forc’d dismissal. Yet she is eke a Queen, with responsibilities in front of her people. Whilst thou wert aware that the Kingdom could not survive to its own devices, Toriel, for the horror and disgust she had, for the angry voices who hearken’d no reason, harass’d as they were by humans since the War and the Barrier and the Princes’ lives taken, she gave in to pressure and fled.”

“Anyone would have done that in her place!” the King said, standing up threateningly, surprising Flowey whose face took on increasingly concerned contours, his stalk bent like the leaves on the mouth.

“Better her, who could get away freely, than me! I was the one to make that decision, she has nothing to do with it!”

“Nay! This is not about common sense, we speak of the fate of the entire populace! But, as thou will, let us look the other way, yet she contrariwise spar’d no efforts on fanning the flames. She dropp’d the weight of all fault on thee alone. Thee, portray’d as a coward, after thou hast been left with an entire Kingdom on thy shoulders. And the moment she return’d, lo and behold, she threw a fireball and assorted insults! Such moral presumption hurteth more than any other travail of thine.”

“Ioreon! She found herself married to a murderer!” Asgore shouted to the spirit, coming just a few feet from him. “If she hadn’t intervened I would have ended up killing even Frisk! Enough with this damned conceit of yours, I don’t deserve such pity!"

"Why should I refrain from saying what happen’d? Nobody wanteth to kill anyone, but in the end only thou took the blame, even if thou wert contrary to a newer butchery! What paramount grief thou hadst to experience, unfairly abandon’d to depress thyself and endure existential doubts, when instead you could bear everything together, even Frisk’s peaceful coming? What kind of spousal bond is this?”

“Stop right now!”

“‘Tis not the first time I say that no one is without fault, and if so the same applieth to thy Queen. Thou shouldst rather direct thine anger in thy self-pity, not on me."

Asgore did not let him finish. He went away with the sack, his face contorted in a grimace of anger and anguish, toward the observation platform to the old capital. Ioreon remained deadpan, staff on his shoulder.

"Are you happy now, spirit? You, dumb, idiot." Flowey looked at him in turn. His eyes shrouded in anger, a crooked smile painted in the face.

“If he shan’t decide to deal with the sword on his head, he shan’t come alive, just ravag’d. His inward commiseration shall lead to his madness.”

Flowey was puzzled, but rebuked with an evil sneer far from having peaceful intentions. “I can relate to that… but all I saw was an old King with a broken heart. And you overdid it."

"I have to take advantage of the little time we have to get maximum results. I awaited this moment just to make thee aware of it. Why waste such an opportunity, now that thou thyself wert here to hearken?”

"WHAT? Are you kidding me?! What kind of reason is this?!"

"Reason is that he is still ensnar’d in his own past, and with all the might of mine I shan’t allow that. Whereas, thou hast never been aware of the pain of thy sovereigns. Thy mind matur’d not much in years of abandonment, in a form that liveth only of memories and ambitions."

Ioreon’s persisting flat tone, was infuriating Flowey. He wanted to strangle him, but the words crept into his head.

“How do you know these things?” he said, now insecure.

A shiver ran through him when he saw Ioreon standing majestic, levitating in mid-air in front of him.

“What the heck are you DOING?!”

"Many things I have in store for thee, Asriel’s ark, son of Asgore and Toriel, Prince of the Underground, now reduc’d to a floral semblance for incidental experimentations."

"Hey! How the heck do you know about me?! OH I SEE!” His face took on a menacing and wicked smirk. “You are a sicko spying on the lives of others! AH!"

"I encompass’d time and space, and still can delve into them as I wish. Not of matter but of magic I am made, in whose veins floweth what held together this world denizens. I witness’d myriad temporal outcomes, where each option was examin’d and unhing’d, wherein thou wert unable to save them and fell in impiously itches. ‘Twas finally a human alone to defeat thee despite thine incredible power, and thou didst prefer aloneness, instead of shattering the hopes and dreams of the Underground. Now thou tremblest in my sight, thou art afraid of me, this is what I sense."

"Fear of you? Phooey! I have Determination, and I know enough of time bending to make you pay well in advance! I’m the only one down here to have it, I’ll reset to my SAVE point, and prepare for this meeting with bullets!"

“Thou think mayhap that I know not how far is thy SAVE point? No worth thou shalt pilfer on rewinding time, Flowey, for thou must not, thou art not capable, and thou shan’t even dare."

"I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!"

"Nay, for I am above the levees of time, hence I shall stay even if thou rewindest to well before the creation of the Barrier. And yet again thou canst do naught, inasmuch it itself no longer holdeth the time of the Underground. All the Determination of Earth cannot reverse this fact, but only that of a god whose power belittleth a mere holder of seven souls."

Ioreon was approaching him now, and Flowey flinched. "Don’t come any closer! Idiot! Sicko!"

He did what would come naturally, starting shooting dozens and dozens of white rotating bullets against his foe. But they almost sagged to his advance, deflected like seeds against a stone wall.

Ioreon was upon him, and held out his hand. Flowey bowed down his head for fear of watching, unable to appease one of the few emotions he felt: terror dictated by instinct of survival.

Then he tasted a warm light, like daylight feeding his petals, bursting out of the spirit’s hand like a sun. Flowey was nurtured beneath that shower of rays, and turned to face the abyss, enraptured by those two bright stars.

"I don’t understand..." was the only thing that spontaneously came to say.

"Have I not said I am far from having bad intentions?"

"Then, heh… who are you again?"

"A friend."

* * *

[Undertale - Premonition Orchestra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nmK2BiFvAQ)

Ioreon was sitting again, now against the trunk of the tree. Flowey refused to look at him. However, the need to talk in those two was not missing. The latter in search of answers, the former ready to present them.

"I thought I’d wither alone, in this emptied Underground. Then you two came, so close-knit you and dad. Then, no time to sit down and you just bickered. You’re not so bad, so it seems, but why you were so mean to him? I'm so confused..."

"Mean, thou sayest? Strong words those to rouse him, whom not even the time to meet already ponder’d the idea of suicide! A precious redemption was offer’d, which he hath pursued egregiously so far, yet thereby hath not shook off his fatalism. He remaineth a kind and adorable King, and as such he cannot give in to that damn’d sadness. I recognize that his and Toriel’s psyche hath been abus’d, they have every right to be glum, but I regret to see him so piteously hunch’d, and she so stubborn in her ivory tower. I find that is noble of him to carry all the blame, but he must find the strength to overcome it, otherwise he would end only being crusht."

"Okay but what a lack of tact! Yeah, it’s true that I don’t feel anything, but just seeing him I understood anyway how you hurt him with your words!"

"At one time thou wouldst not have hesitated to kill him, now thou quiverest at the thought that someone might hurt him even in words. This should hearten thee.”

“Don’t be an idiot and answer me!”

“My apologies. So much to say and so little time. Firstly mind this, if my words transpir’d resentment or anger towards thy mother, thou art mistaken. Just as I am fond of Asgore, so I am to Toriel, but…”

“No look, not at all!” Flowey replied sardonically. “But you see… this kind of unaffected voice of yours doesn’t help at all!”

“Sift through words, not emotions! Now, allow me this outlandish idea. Since time immemorial, problems have to be fac’d. Every mistake must be put on the negotiating table, otherwise they shall stagnate around negating the right solution. Diplomacy is eke this. Yet both fail to acknowledge their past, share it and overcome it.

“Asgore hath eyes only for her, yet he is blind in believing her impeccable. Toriel on the other hand found a different husband's side and, rather than mitigate his decision, she back’d down everything with a flight. One is reluctant to rationalize the guilt of his own and the others, one accuseth him, unmindful of everything else. These two dueling conceptions shan’t ever deliver a winner, and they shall live faraway refusing to understand what the depths of evil impos’d.”

“It seems to me that you still undervalue the feeling one has at a given time.” Flowey was surprised to say it himself.

“For the heart hath its reasons, which reason knoweth not of, but ‘tis not in itself a motive to throw everything down into the sewer. If we were to follow everything that the heart commandeth, we would end up making glaring flaws like the ones the both of them have done.”

“Maybe, but you hit a nerve. My father loves my mother, you know, and that’s one of the few reasons he has for staying alive!”

“Indeed and ‘tis unparallel’d, yet embitter’d. Asgore is not a fainthearted, nor a stupid, but he promoteth not a remedy to errors ceteris paribus. The same goeth for her, albeit I am sure that in her heart she already realis’d one cannot go on like this. I would have limited myself to much more frugal words in criticizing only her sudden escape. Fortuitous was the choice, and good was deriv’d. But what I find most difficult to accept, is her overflowing resentment against him, when every cause of damage is the fear that men had for monsters, so much so they entrapp’d them in a temporal pocket.

“Within them, they know they cannot live detach’d forever, for their love never dissolv’d, however their obstinacy shan’t let them look to each other’s face. They have to deal with their demons, or both shall die in regret. I deem’d ‘tis the time to wedge a sting to displace stones, provoke the tear to break the dam, instill the spark to ignite the fire. If I must I shall give the first push, but he is the one that must take the first step with a new fresh mind. Really then, why live on if thou hast not a slightest hope that tomorrow shall be different? After night and storm always cometh day and fair, dost not thou agree?"

Flowey was growing impatient. "You're sending me into a tizzy! You talk a lot, and while you're at it you complicate with those darn obsolete, big words! Why can’t you just stop with this language? You sound ridiculous!” he said, reserving him a memorable glare.

“I beg thy pardon, but this is my way of talking, so bearest with me.”

“Golly, you must seriously be fun at parties!”

“Thou couldst say that of me, the very spirit of the party.”

“But, what... I can't even... Bah! Whatever.” Flowey tried with all his might to suppress violence.

“Since you’re a know-it-all” – he said then, sticking out his tongue – “Why are you wasting your time with a soulless flower rather than go and apologize to my dad?”

“All in good time, he needeth to think. Same applieth to thee, who needest eke to confide.”

“Here, do you see it?! Why you don’t mind your own business? How can you assume others need some nosy parker like you?!"

“I ought not to worry about his health, or even thine? I had to care not when thou saidest ‘it is kill or be killed’ the very first time? Hath not my heart be eaten when thou reach’d inconceivable derange once already, for everything repeated itself, and there was no emotion upsetting thee, so thou never stopp’d to annihilate and restart? To answer thee, indeed I know because I have seen every facet, every action was done under my eyes, yet I could not do anything at that time. Now I want to fix wherever I can.”

“That’s rich! You weren’t anywhere when all of this happened! You really are an idiot. But… a good one, since you want to set things right.”

“Gramercy Flowey, but surely this is a desire thou hast too. Thou dreadest boredom more than anything, thou contemplate not the idea of going back in time even after irreparable harm, for the days are finally anew. Albeit the absence of thy soul made thine heart mute, thine intellect indeed understandeth that the thrill of curiosity to infinite outcomes eclipseth before the risks of an only and definitive one. Now it driveth thee to good and holdeth thee to do evil, not for feeling but for respect of the one who gave thee a second chance."

“Can’t you just stop talking?! Gee. For what I know, that’s cool I guess. Frisk, dad, mum, all monsters deserve a happy ending. I felt sorry to see daddy here again… but by the way!” – a sudden realization appeared blatant to him now – “You still have to tell me what you two are doing here! Surely you didn’t come for me, my dad doesn’t even know I exist!" Flowey smiled through gritted teeth.

"Hmm...” Ioreon bowed his head to see him better, but he quickly shook it. “I have seen that smile already."

"Eh? What are you looking at?! Phew." Flowey turned his back to him, his leaves crossed.

"Thou long for keeping on playing with the one who stretch’d the hand to meet thine. Wouldst thou have a happy ending too? Thou canst not stand being alone here so, hast thou ever thought about living with thy family again?"

"Darn, you’re genuinely crazy!” He confronted him out of the corner of his eye. “I'm a sociopath flower! If I happen to find myself at home with them I would enjoy myself only in testing their pain threshold! I… I can’t go back. Not like this…"

"Why thou still tryest to float betwixt two worlds? Thou art trapp’d no longer in a cyclical time. ‘Tis quite different already, all to be discover’d. If an opportunity ariseth, wouldst thou come to the outside world? Be honest.”

“Blah, blah, what a bore you are!”

"’Tis a too embarrassing question for thee?"

“STOP TEASING ME! Damn you...”

"You are all quite in the grip of a guilty conscience! Come on, wouldst thou like it or not?"

"GOSH! YES! I WOULD LIKE IT! Are you happy now?"

“Aye, thou couldst say I am o’erly satisfied. Therefore I propose thee a way hereout at the end of the journey of Asgore and mine.”

So Flowey showed him wide eyes and mouth wide open. “What are you, a braindead?! Hello?! I'm a serial murderer! You can only bet on how much time I’ll take to do a carnage!”

"I almost miss’d these kind of reactions. I find them quite funny, knowest thou?"

"Yeah! I see how you have fun bugging me! Now I’m sure you’ll never stop talking!"

Ioreon ended the diatribe with just one laugh that resonated in the air. Flowey still mumbled something, and that’s that. Then the spirit stood up, his figure covered in the shadow of the tree leaves. "Enough time hath pass’d, I fret about Asgore. By thy leave, Flowey.”

“Wait a sec!” Flowey said, tugging his robe with a tendril. “Just… um… Don’t tell dad that I am his son. Please.”

“Good enough, for what the eye seeth not, the heart rueth not! In sooth, I would not even dream to squander a pleasure that is rightly thine. Thou shalt be the one to reveal it at the right time.”

He turned to leave, but at the very last, he turned toward him. “Oh, and if thou want to come thou art welcome. I trow thou hast many other things to say, and hear."

"Well thanks for that! Have I told you how a pain in the neck you are?"

"Methinks I yet have to realize, still too busy answering thy questions."

"ARGH!" Flowey by then went ballistic every two minutes.

* * *

[Ori and the Blind Forest – The Blinded Forest](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEx7AB-c6cQ)

Armored elbows were propped against the railing. His hands stretched out to touch the air, overlooking the immense expanse of wood and marble. Sweet and beautiful still appeared Old Home with its palaces and towers, hollow vessel of consciences.

Quiet and still. So different now from his former sovereign.

He used to go there to think, after years he could do it again. However this time, even the elbows could not bear the weight of the head and the sack on his shoulders.

Doubtful and irrepressible. So similar to the black, confused, vaporous waters looming on the horizon.

Seconds turned into minutes. For that time he decided not to stand by and watch the skyline, so he walked to the monumental stairway that extended, as white as impressive, towards the market square.

He brushed the fingertips against the friezes, he studied by touch the waves of seas never seen, the fruits of branches never caught, the ears of wheat never reaped.

“I feel like I have gone back in time,” he said, when it was still only a laconic desire, a legend to many, the world above, once also theirs. “On this trip in reverse, with the hopes to resurrect what has been lost.”

The breeze whistled. Fine dust swirled, glistening in the rays of unknown source. He stealthily walked on the debris of his former Home, immersed in the mute and deaf collapse of all around.

In its time it was a riot of color and life, its streets crowded of monsters, intent to hoist the bright festoons at the arrival of the Royal Family, although it was enough for him to be in their midst. Away from sunlight, it still shone resplendent from their hearts, woven into their songs as they rose up to the very vault of Mount Ebott.

Inescapable fatality of things stood out before his sight.

“How I wish you were here you next to me, my precious love, the most shining among the crown jewels, my only light in this world of black smoke.”

Then there was that other light, which he met, but too late. Eyes of flame, darting into the void. But he had fear of them now, fear that they might char his own.  “Why have you diverted the discussion that way, Ioreon? Don’t you care about my pain?”

Old Home faded as his mind soared on other things only, on that spirit that he felt as a friend, as he walked along the King’s Highway. “Yet you have given me so much hope, so much support I had not seen for some time, and wisdom, advice…”

He took a deep breath. He tapped his fingers on a ruined wall, kicked a pebble to the other side of the road.

“His sing-song atonality, his pompous verbosity, his exaggerated phlegm, from which no emotion emerges. I find it so unbearable now that I think of it.”

He smiled. But its contours were curled, a mixture of anger and disgust, and he did not like what emerged at all. He banished the thought at once.

That walk seemed to have an undesired effect. He strolled as if suspended in an eternal twilight. The city did not accept being forgotten.

The side alleys spread as fibers of a spider's web, confused with the endless darkness of the buildings shadows. Shops, workshops and ateliers that attracted gazes for the works of masterful craftsmanship kept therein, without doors and jambs were wide open like mouths, expiring the stench of paint and gone by enfleurage.

Such was the desolation of dilapidated monuments, gutted by gaping claws, wood eaten by moths and termites into splintery racks, once marvelous sculptures scattered among cornices, piazzas, embankments and balconies, appearing now as gargoyles praising an abysmal entity… All of it seemed to have something terrible to confess.

A persistent thought would not let him calm down. Seeds of doubt eroded him.

The blatant lie of an evil genius emerged, deluding with wonders of still alive bodies, looking for his help just to grab the souls and make them his own.

“Seriously? But what kind of thoughts come to my mind? How can a stupid discussion lead me to these kind of conclusions?” the King said, in the grip of increasingly abstruse conditioning.

Minutes became hours, and doubt became frustration.

Everything seemed to turn gloomier. There was something strange in the air.

The bells of the city center still sounded. But it was chilling, a rasp and scratchy sound, ominous like the wide colonnades, no longer a welcoming embrace, but a pincer.

The majestic stained glass windows of nobility, where once the light slanted down glittering, loomed up slender like vacuous orbits of deconsecrated churches.

Asgore proceeded, more and more slowly, encumbered by his armor and this soaring, distant world.

“I… I feel so alone now…”

The memories themselves mingled now with those shadows, distorted in lengthened tentacles, enveloping and crushing buildings in a new deafening silence, crying out for revenge on a betrayal.

He clearly heard something drumming behind his ear, scraping around and digging inside him like a blackened and flaking nail. Like a skeletal finger prodding his mind.

“What is true, what is false?”

He deemed impossible that state of things, which was twisting his awareness.

"Am I going insane?"

An awful dread laid hold of him.

A continuous murmur was driving him out of his mind.

“Will you help me, Ioreon?”

Even the stones seemed to speak. Their voices were shrill, piercing, repetitive in sentencing the most agonizing of revelations.

Beware of the man who came from the other world.

“Or maybe you just want to go scorched earth around me?”

Gradually he accepted that mistrust took hold of him, an aversion injected as a needle that, like macerating must and skins, increased his desperation.

And the whole city now stood as an aberration, an abomination of stone with a thousand eyes and a thousand teeth that would have devoured him. And it cried in his ears: evil has not been consumed yet.

"Dost thou still need a bit longer?"

Ioreon himself seemed the harassing past. An uncontrollable hatred fostered by just hearing him.

“Oh. It is you,” Asgore said, turning lazily towards the spirit.

“Forsooth. I would never expect to find thee here. Hath nostalgia hit thee as soon as thou saw the ancient splendor of Old Home?”

“You could say that, spirit.”

His voice was anything but serene. To Ioreon’s hearing, it appeared even resentful.

“Bedamn’d me, why you monsters have to be so susceptible? Have I hurt thy feelings to such an extent?”

“Perhaps, instead, it opened my eyes.”

“Verily, thine eyes look like those of one who hath just seen his foe.”

Asgore remained impassive, wandering with his arms crossed on his back. “So, have you had enough of deriding my Toriel, or there is more?”

“What art thou saying?” Ioreon replied baffled, his voice unfortunately still hiding the concern he had. “Where hast thou draw such allegations? Whenever would have I derided her?”

“Golly, I think it was in the last discussion we had!” Asgore tightened the sack strap, securing it tightly, staring erratic at his every possible movement. “You declare yourself my friend, and you stayed alongside me. Yet you have besmirched my wife’s honor, the one I care more than anything. If you say you know so much, why would you minimize my error and exalt hers, if there’s a gulf between our two decisions?!”

“The situation justifieth thine own, her total freedom of choice and its consequences on thee rather aggravateth hers. Severity is indeed very different considering the two cases, but eke abysmal ‘twas thy compulsion,” the spirit spoke, weighing his every word.

“Gosh, aren’t you reassuring me like you always do?” Asgore said sarcastic. “Even assuming that she was wrong, even wanting to be selfish, it’s a very small thing, nowhere near to what I have done! Six children have died because of me!”

“Misrepresent not what I said!” Ioreon voice boomed out. “I did not tell thee to forget what happen’d, but to overcome it! Furthermore, Toriel is a creature sweet as honey, loving wife and tender mother, I would have serious difficulties to hate her person. 'Tis too much to ask that both of you would have done better to talk than be caught by emotional meltdowns?”

“What a fervent reaction, Ioreon! Maybe you're not as apathetic as you seem,” Asgore said with annoyance. “But it's all so strange now. This place seems to warn me. Perhaps my whole Kingdom was warning me from the beginning with all those disasters. Has it awakened so to rush to the aid of its desolate King?”

“Misfortune Asgore, hast thou decided to just surround thyself with mirrors and live on delusions? What is the meaning of this masquerade?”

“Masquerade? Why, you seem to know everything about me, while I know almost nothing about you, and you still remain silent. You should refer to yourself then, for the baggage of secrets you hide!”

“Asgore, thou might not accept the truth about me. Do not ask me that now, I prithee.”

“And like always, you talk at length but never about yourself, you evade the argument like the plague! What else are you hiding from me?!”

“Hark! Thou art a dear friend of mine, I would never betray thee. I cannot, even if I wanted to, for the way I am conform’d. If apologies are what thou desirest, then, I beg of thee, acceptest them, and let us be done with this farce.”

“Apologies aren’t enough! You confuse me with your words!” Asgore stated with firm belief, stopping dead in his tracks. “Do you understand that I am terrified by the thought that this could be a well-concocted lie? What should I do if this is the case?” he said, with the heartfelt expression of someone who has lost all points of reference on Earth.

“What possess’d thee to say such a thing, mifriend?” Ioreon spoke slowly, and mortified. “Why there is fear upon thee?”

And his word fell dead when he saw in his hands the appearing trident.

[Undertale Orchestrated - Heartache](https://youtu.be/Fu9lnzpSLXo?t=12s)

“Ah, Toriel! She might not forgive me for what I'm about to do… But by now, I am hopeless in her eyes.”

The wind blew strong, as if declaiming itself the churning waft of Asgore’s now utter bewilderment.

“This matter is heading in a direction most… unexpected.”

“Yes indeed, your plans did not go as you expected, isn’t it?” the King said, starting the clash with a fan of flames and then launching himself suddenly against his supposed assailant. “Even your projects have some degree of failure!”

Ioreon dodged the flames, made them swerve upon a vanishing barrier, and parried Asgore’s attack with the staff. “I know there’s no hate in thee, Asgore. Sheathe thy weapon, I implore thee.”

“I'd prefer to take my chances.”

The request fell on deaf ears when Asgore took advantage of the proximity, summoning an even closer blast of fire. Ioreon himself suffered the backlash, finishing straight against the pillar of a house, and disintegrated in tatters. To Asgore’s surprise however, he presented himself again in front of him just after a blink.

“A reaction so disproportionate, ‘tis not like thee. I recognize thee no more...”

“And what would you know of what I've been through?! Where have you been all this time, while solitude preyed on my soul?!”

Once again he lunged his trident, stirring air and dust in cumulonimbus clouds. The spirit dodged again, swirling around him with increasing speed. The war cry of the King seemed to raise the ground itself, and issued forth newer showers of fireballs, scorching the clothes of Ioreon. But the latter refused to fight back, using only words as a weapon.

“Asgore! Only now ‘twas granted to me the chance to act! Why I sought thee then, and took this journey together with thee? Art thou really thinking I have some despicable ambition to fulfill?”

“And what if it is so?!” Asgore veered to one side, now brandishing his scythe that mowed down Ioreon’s trail and passed through him who, unscathed, backed away. “Your only way to steal the souls now is over my dead body!”

“But I shan’t do it, and the souls too want it not,” Ioreon said, jumping from one point to another to avoid the fiery columns that sprung from the ground, coming to levitate right before him. “I can hear them but, reckon this, they still beckon thy name. I shan’t swindle them out of their foster father.”

“Who knows what lurks behind your spluttering eyes, in that black and dreadful abyss of yours!”

Varying energy beams darted sudden, some aimed at hitting, others aimed at intercepting, collimating against each other, scarring the facades of houses and mansions that fractured under the fluctuating shots.

The city itself participated in its own way while the battle raged on, extolling with blankly rumbles and crunches between the very hidden frameworks of edifices. And there, on top of the observation platform, above the grand stairway, another onlooker watched helplessly.

"No! NO! What the heck are they doing?!" Flowey never saw his father so angry.

He stood silent, his sight dazed, when an unstable tower gave in to its own weight as a hot air gust broke its legs, collapsing ruinously on other debris in a cloud of dust.

“Look around you!” Asgore steered Ioreon to gaze upon all over the place with his outstretched hand. “Here's what’s left to me, ruins and mourning! NOTHING ELSE!”

“Why thine heart is brimming with these words fill’d with poison?”

“If my only purpose now is keeping you away from these souls, even by means of words, so be it!”

He did not even leave him time to answer back. He mustered his magical energy, projecting like the spokes of a wheel, colossal walls of fire, which expanded high and low down to the foundations of the city center.

“But I have not such purpose as thee declaim! If I have spoken evil, tell me where it layeth!” Ioreon challenged him, deflecting a burning wall directed against him.

“Your stately, contrived voice repulses me! Not a feeling shines through when you speak! Your tongue is unnatural or worse, without a soul!”

“For I am indeed soulless, Asgore,” Ioreon said. A confession that, with its vacuous expressiveness, fell like a boulder. It made Asgore’s blood run cold, fomenting the primal fear of the aftermath that flows from it.

“I cannot infuse feelings into a dead speak. For what I am... I cannot contain one.”

“So my suspicions are correct! You, able to feign and dissimulate, without a heart betraying your real intentions!”

The unequal clash unfolded into larger spaces, fireballs turning into loud explosions that wiped out domes and bell towers. Ioreon flew backward, stunned by one of the many burst, chased by Asgore along the trail of destruction that opened to the spirit’s passage.

He dashed forward again, holding high the staff and parrying another gigging, apparently helpless then to the cleaving scythe that followed.

“Mifriend, I do not have a soul, but verily I have a heart!” Ioreon suffered on his ethereal flesh the slashes, but his voice did not flinch even once. “I feel, but I cannot prove it, not in the way thou wouldst understand. Let my words suffice in inspiring something, and other than asking thee to trust this dead speak, I can do naught else.”

“Out of my sight, treacherous wraith!”

Asgore glowed with red light, firing again but now a seamless wave of blazes that cracked the pavement, lifting tiles and gravel and cement. As it connected with Ioreon, it was transmuted into a thick mirror of ice, shattering fragile under the King’s ceaseless fatal fists.

“Why thou persist in smiting me? Really thou canst no longer recognize friends, dost thou?”

A final charged punch broke through the bastion with a crash, reaching behind the mirror one of his arms. “We'll never be true friends if you still keep secrets from me!”

Tightening his hand around it, Asgore yanked Ioreon toward him, who imperturbable went through his body and stood freely behind his back.

“I promise thou shalt know, but ’tis not yet the time. Thou must wait, or what we have done shall be in vain.”

“LIAR!” Asgore shouted, bringing to Ioreon’s side the now crackling trident with a sweep of his hand, trying yet another thrust.

Ioreon went for broke, flinging himself upwards to miss the blow, unbalancing Asgore, and immediately rushed upon him, blocking his shoulders with his hands, his torches fixed straight on those of the King, pervaded with wrath and frenzy.

“No lie scratch’d my words, I just have not told thee everything, for thou wouldst not understand it times ago. Trust me Asgore!”

“Silence you felon!”

The King recoiled. He prepared the trident. And thrust it into Ioreon's flesh.

But the lunge was hampered by the hard, knotty staff, stuck between its bloodthirsty prongs, unleashing all around an impetuous whirlwind of cobbles and sand.

Ioreon did not let go this time. Asgore would have expected everything from him now.

Save for a light blow on the head with the staff top.

There was nothing, but a mere wooden sound.

Asgore suffered the blow. “That’s all you have got?”

“Thou shan’t force my hand to harm thee.”

The sole sound of the staff was enough.

To the King it seemed it echoed throughout the whole city, down to the roots of Old Home, sweeping away shadows, smoke, and rubble.

Ioreon looked at him, his eyes at the same height of Asgore's.

Behind the shimmer, the King saw the entirety of the cosmos, singing of ideas and stars, everything that human or monstrous eyes fail to see. And ever the more, they were sincere.

The trident slipped from his hands, with a noisy, and then damped, beat, which was worth more than countless words.

He turned his back to him, just to sit silent on one of the huge chiseled bricks, his arms on his knees. “What am I doing?”

It emerged from his lips, irrefutable sign of his full consciousness.

“It’s all so wrong. I didn’t want it to end like this.”

He felt the fresh breath of golden flowers, in that desolate desert. Ioreon was kneeling down in front of him.

“I must atone, Asgore, for a most grievous sin of mine.”

Asgore looked at him, his eyes at the same height of Ioreon's.

“But first, let me help thee vanquish thine.”

* * *

[TPR - Cyan’s Theme - A Melancholy Tribute](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5QdUp-0f6I)

The breeze came back to blow, auspicious, bringing with it the scent of damp leaves and grass, breath of life in the inert city. Under the only apparent dusk, even those bleak colors fled, proving rather just suggestions. The smoke from the breaches at least broke the monotonous fixity of Old Home.

“Really do I exert quite this effect on thee?” Ioreon said, sitting next to his friend.

“At the beginning it was just suspicion, which later became awe. Then I fed confidence towards you, and I decided to open myself up. But just now... I don’t really know what came over me.”

He gazed at his open hands, scarred by the heat of battle. He applied his fingers on his forehead, disappointed, sorrowful, consternated. “I don’t even know how to properly apologize right now.”

“Apologies must be given, only when thou art sure of their causes. No one in their right mind would go so far, and fie on me if thou art insane.”

“Everything seems to favor my madness, though.” Asgore rubbed his now aching hands. “So many things happened in so little time. This playing fast and loose with emotions exposes you to far too many mental breakdowns.”

The King felt Ioreon’s hold on his shoulder. “‘Tis a pleasure that the matter resolv’d as if nothing had happen’d. Yet methinks that really there is more, not just a fit of hysteria. Thou withstood for centuries and only now thou exploded with anger? Pray tell.”

“What else there’s to say? It seems that everything derives from me, concerning doubts are eating away at my soul, and the more we get near, the more everything turns black. Despite your assurances, the souls so jovial, comfort still seems always so far away. But what horrifies me most, was the feeling of revulsion at the mere thought of you.”

“Out upon it! What prompted thee to such a degree?”

“Gosh, I cannot make sense of it. It seemed like the whole Old Home was talking to me, so much so I had its voices in my head. But they were so scratchy, distorted… it was dark, it gave forth an overwhelming sense of fatigue and defeat. Everything turned into a night of the senses.”

He stopped, looking one last time at that gorgeous, reflecting white disrepair, plunged into the faltering light of the Underground. “No, it cannot be, it just can’t. I don’t have gloomy nor fatal memories of this wonderful place. I still cannot make sense of it.”

“Hallucinations are indeed what I would like to hark from thee.”

“Hallucinations? I think I had them, without realizing it. And, well… –” the King let out a nervous giggle “– That’s just a wretched detail now that I think of it. I found a carving in Snowdin, saying ‘Beware of the man who came from the other world’. But I never thought that a mere detail would push me to fight you.”

“Say! What an uproarious coincidence,” Ioreon said, mulling over with his hand on his hood neck. “But I understand thy suspicions, for if thou hadst known me better, the thought would not even touch’d thee. In this, I have my guilt for having conceal’d myself, but eke my reasons in doing so. Yet a murderous urge is more and more an unjustified reaction after a mere conjecture. Unless...”

“I feel so terribly ashamed of myself…” Asgore snuggled his head down in his arms.

“Nay, Asgore. For if ‘tis what I perceiv’d myself, then the situation is rather dire.”

“Am I gravely ill?”

“Not thee, gnashgab of thyself! Indeed, the harsh alternative is there is something that hath cajol’d thee, a nefarious inspiration maltreating thy vexations. A gesture most deplorable by one who hath no qualms.”

“How can you tell?” the King asked, his face still engrossed on what he had seen earlier.

The hand of the spirit passed along the veining of the staff, resting on the knots. Then he stood up, languidly observing the unfolding world. “I shall be frank with thee. I have no knowledge whereof it cometh from, but ‘tis true that some kind of averse influence hovereth in the Underground. I felt a weak lingering presence since the caves of Waterfall, but as we approach more and more the heart of the Ruins, it strengthen’d. Thou art confirming the gut feelings that gnaw my inwards.”

A distasteful vision appeared into the mind of the King. “Aren’t you a little exaggerated with that?”

“Far from it! For ‘tis a very sinister kin. The worst is, I recognize its signature, sens’d even around the bodies of the children. Thereat I had not lend it weight as ‘twas extremely pale, almost imperceptible its alignment, but now I hearken it clearly, stronger, fiercer, creating a kind of syntony. I fear it might jeopardize the souls’ mending, and even if ‘tis a mere happenstance, I think not wise let it feed itself.”

“Oh, golly. But since when have sprouted these coercive influences? What is this, another ghost?”

“Ghosts do not permeate an entire world by sheer will. This influence is outrageously leaking, worthy of something, or someone, link’d either to materiality and immateriality. They took advantage of a moment of weakness to bend thy view and occlude thy reasoning. And I have eas’d their task in spite of myself, my very self becoming an underlying cause.”

And maybe for once Ioreon managed to inspire remorse in his utterance, as the King was able to understand it.

“I was… careless. My reasoning insofar as refin’d, shan’t ever be able to immerse perfectly into the all liv’d of living matter. Ever so oft is declaim’d, 'tis fairer to empathize with another perspective, but so rarely this is attain’d.”

His voice was steady, but his eyes were like sobbing. Asgore, at a closer glance, glimpsed that.

“I regret what my atonal words have caus’d, Asgore, since they hurt thee in some way.”

Eyes, two ever-burning spheres inset into the void, impossible to decipher. Yet unique windows to the soul he did not own, the sole tangible and emotional sign that he could make visible.

“Never mind, Ioreon, -” Asgore went to meet him halfway, moving hesitantly toward him, “- It’s not your fault. The point is, I cannot stop thinking about her, my heart is torn up about what happened, having betrayed her trust as well.”

“Of course, ‘tis clear, I know. I did it on purpose.” And those spheres of fire returned to dart lively.

“Ah! Is that so?”

“Forsooth!”

The King put his hands on his hips, expectantly.

“My dear friend Asgore, not wanting to believe thou hast some obsession for yearning, I shall continue to torture thee with words till the concept getteth into thine head, that if thou makest not peace with thyself thou shan’t ever do with her.”

"Oh, come on! Why do you keep pulling off this topic? It saddens me too much!"

“Both of you have made mistakes, because of the loss of two children from one day to another. The one on thy side we dissected in many different ways, thou wert wrong and thou hast rued it more than enough. As for her, I myself suffer’d greatly to see her run away from New Home.

“Since then the strength of your bond was divested, and triumph’d only the inherent weaknesses as a result of a fail’d completeness. Yet none of what you have experienc’d hath made you mean persons. Even more reason then, inasmuch thou art conscious of what devastated her, thou hast to take the reins, reason together, and let bygones be bygones. ‘Tis sure running away shan’t solve anything!"

“Golly, you're hung up with this thing! Why do you persist? Don’t you understand?” Asgore replied slightly peeved. “She doesn’t love me anymore! If she ran away was my fault and my feebleness, for the absence of pulse of the situation! She hasn’t forgiven me that I prolonged for so long our imprisonment and, by golly, she called me a pathetic whelp for it! It is clear that she doesn’t have anything to do with me anymore!"

“And dost not forget the fireball.”

“For obvious reasons!” Asgore almost cried out.

“Thus be not a ninnyhammer and follow the obvious! She remain’d not with thee not because of unbearable presence or hatred, but because thou rember’d her a life happy and fulfilling. When thou plac’d duty before her, she could not believe that her belov’d one would allow a resolution oppos’d to peaceful means, and thus she fled. Yet she still loveth thee.

“This detachment is for her a personal matter, but what else thou couldst do? Thou ultimately saw the fate of monsters when warring humanity, and another conflict would have meant your extinction, with thee as the sole, godly survivor. Both of you have made rusht decisions, both have endur’d pain that at times bringeth instability and debacle, and yet, and yet! You were two strong rulers, who despite countless years resisted tenaciously in clinging to life. Even in you flow’d Determination, lo! And it enthrall’d you not in defeat!”

Asgore sighed blatantly. “May I know at least why you still justify me?”

“Oh fie, thou surely art thick! I justify thee in some matters, yet I condone thee no more than what thou already repented for.”

“And you still behave like a pedantic omnipresent mind! Reasons, reasons, reasons. Gosh!” And he snorted so hard, that Ioreon would fly off by his own.

“You know? Do whatever you want, it doesn’t matter anymore to me. I trust you, and I swear I want to believe it, but yours are still words! So just… don’t waste your time, these are only promises, and you are destroying the few certainties I’ve left!"

"Certainties unfounded! Throwest not to the winds the possibility of a return! How many times I have to tell thee that there is hope and there shall be even till the end of thy days? If there is a peaceful ending for all monsters, there shall be peace even for you two! Or dost thou really prefer to rack thy brains on minimum matters to suffer even more? I did not thought thou wert so defeatist!"

"Stop it now, okay?! If you really want it, then accompany me there and tell her by yourself!"

"I would do it with pleasure since thou art so stubborn, thou hard-headed!"

So they let tempers cool off, diverting their gazes from each other to rather direct them to the Ruins of Old Home. The King however looked quiet now, soon to blurt out a chuckle.

And then, something unimaginable revealed itself.

Some kind of illumination glowed at the horizon of Home, as if a hidden star wanted to rise. The city seemed to ignite in a solar spectacle, a radiant dawn that greeted the King in a way he could not appreciate before. A strange phenomenon with unknown causes, come perhaps at the behest of the city itself, to remind him how bright it really was.

"If even the Underground shineth with the colors of Sol, mayhap the miracle that thou long for is not so impossible to fulfill."

"You really took to heart my situation, eh?"

"Yours, Asgore. Yours."

Asgore had been too long in pain to not give in to a last desperate attempt of skepticism. Nevertheless, the voice of Ioreon sounded remarkably powerful and safe at the same time.

Spontaneously, he put his hand on the spirit’s shoulder attracting his attention and, unbeknown to him, he pulled him into a manly hug, as if they were comrades in the battle that flustered their existences.

"I never cared about where you came from, if ever you have been here, if you’ve always lived here or if you're just passing by. I let my doubts win over me, and now they are in the list of things I regret bitterly. But one thing is certain, you stayed by my side. This is enough reason for me to never doubt you anymore.”

That was his concluding remark, made with a faint voice. Then he released that embrace.

Asgore kept his eyes lowered to his slight embarrassment, but Ioreon raised the King’s head, seemingly smiling with his invisible mouth, but definitely with his sight. “As long as there is breath in this simulacrum of mine, thou shan’t live in mourning, I promise."

“Well, it's a start.” Asgore smiled too, resigned as usual.

And so agreed as well, the soul of patience.

Radiant, a tender sky blue gleam appeared to be watching, exactly when they were looking elsewhere.

The King felt invading him the same supernatural warmth that the flickering souls managed to instill, every time he saw them.

“Here, dost thou see? Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”

“Sure. And if she herself came in person, I think that we even managed to make her lose it," Asgore whispered jokingly.

The soul did not let them make the first step. It itself approached them peacefully, floating with solemn poise.

"Hey, Ioreon," Asgore said, beaming at the soul now in front of his chest.

"Yes, Asgore?"

"Could there be a happy ending then, like in children's stories?"

"Why should not be so? It remaineth only to fight the villain. And save the princess."

So they took the last cylinder, and within it they put the last soul in safe.

They were not the only ones absorbed this time, however.

Flowey had been in apprehension behind a corner of a cracked column, listening and watching, and vaguely remembering the taste of that teal light that pulsed in the cylinder.

 

Yukiko – Ruins of Old Home, 242x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Italy, it is said that: Often you win with patience what you cannot win by violence.
> 
> Now then! We are getting closer and closer to the conclusion, there where the line between what is real and what is not may be compromised.
> 
> I don’t want to send the message that I am a hater of Toriel. I am far from that. From a rational standpoint, however, even hers was not a wise choice. It would be right, in my opinion, that the two would come face to face, without adducing positions of moral superiority (or inferiority) because everyone makes mistakes. Their positions are diametrically opposed, as well as the decisions they made. 
> 
> Obviously for plot issues, (Tu)Toriel is the first friendly face that the player encounters, introducing him to the game mechanics and to the storyline, that will culminate with the meeting with Asgore. Inevitably, an excuse was needed to push her back to the old Ruins. Well, I decided for this interpretation to enrich further this kind of choice, striving for a mutual understanding. If you ask me, it makes everything much more romantic. And of course there is Ioreon, who likes to dramatize everything.
> 
> What I deemed important to say, I said it. What follows are the answers to two questions I thought might arise while reading. The last is just details about the world I am building from scratch. If you are interested, here they come.
> 
> As you know, when Flowey reset for the first time, he found himself in the throne room. His SAVE file began before his meeting with Asgore. At first he introduced himself as his son Asriel, several other times he did not, to experience different outcomes. So, it is obvious that Asgore does not remember him, except for some vague memories (I postulate that none of them remembered anything after the Absolute God of Hyperdeath affair, the True Pacifist seems to suggest this.). This is canon.
> 
> On the other hand, one might wonder about what Ioreon said to Flowey. His Determination, and incidentally also that of Frisk, is now useless in rewinding the Underground time. And this is headcanon.
> 
> Actually, in this world... time as we know it does not exist. Or rather, it would be better to say that you cannot hope to bring back time with a snap of fingers. Entropy and quantum physics come to throw these kind of plans into disarray. In fact, you must bring back to a given starting position all the matter in the universe, as well as its every initial characteristic. The further you bring it back, the more energy you have to use. We cannot even state that everything will return as it was, but let’s overlook it.
> 
> The arrow of time always goes forward and cannot be reversed, so, how to solve the digital savings and loadings and resets with an analogical explanation?
> 
> Well, I imagined the Barrier as a pocket where the Underground is a separated universe, all of its own (emphasizing as a side effect the cruelty of such punishment). This is also why the timeline of the Underground and the timeline of the rest of the universe had to conform after the Barrier shattered. The bending of time interested only the Underground, so its backward ‘time’ had to accelerate to keep up with the times of the outside one, literary.
> 
> In this confined space, we have definitely far fewer atoms to worry about, so the power of Determination (of a child, or that of a flower) is kept somewhat plausible. Yeah, bring the whole matter of the Underground (Universe) to an antecedent state, even re-compacting the dust to reconstitute lives taken, and even monster souls. 
> 
> Now the power of Frisk’s Determination acquires a whole new meaning. Pretty cool huh?
> 
> Well, I spoke at great length, my apologies!
> 
> See you at the next chapter lads and maidens!
> 
> ;-)


	9. IX – Final Determination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy dear readers!  
> I am sorry for having skipped a week. Trivial issues of real life keep getting in the way. But let’s move on.  
> Perhaps this is the most hectic and ambiguous chapter of the story, where the eldritch makes its appearance. That's what happens when you want to use symbolism, everything turns into a gross circus of horrors (stay with me, Lovecraft).  
> I hope that some bodily fluid or grotesque thing won’t create too much discomfort.  
> Someone will consider me even crazier because, while I was at it, I put some sentences that are not in English (when in doubt, just put some Latin). Their translation is in the endnotes.  
> Let’s end it with a bang.  
> Enjoy it.  
> ;-)

"It’s too sad that you couldn’t escape these grueling Ruins,” Asgore said, comforting the light blue soul inside the cylinder. It throbbed in sync with his breath, emitting a sort of daughterly affection. “I dare not even imagine what you have gone through, but I am sure Toriel gave you in life the warmth you deserve.”

As he put the cylinder into the sack, he breathed a sigh of relief. “You'll soon have a place to call home again, you merry light.”

Ioreon showed up behind him, smacking his backpiece of armor with an encouraging pat. “Huzza! This is worth celebrating, for ’tis finisht mifriend! All souls are with thee once again, we shall bring them back to their rightful dwellings anon.”

“Yeah, you have no idea how relieved I am now! They are finally safe with us.”

“You can say that again!”

Asgore winced when he heard that familiar high-pitched voice.

Much to his surprise, he saw Flowey in plain sight, clinging to a smashed parapet with his wrapped up vines. He put the leaves like a megaphone, shouting: “You certainly took your sweet time!”

"And what are you doing here?" Asgore asked, sweating it out.

“Take a guess, Old Man!”

Asgore looked at him. His did not sound like the voice he heard earlier. It seemed too mischievous, even malicious. That did not bode well.

“Why he’s looking at me that way?” Asgore whispered to Ioreon, taking him aside.

“Come now Asgore, ‘tis not polite to whisper behind someone’s back,” and in the meantime he talked in a low voice too.

"This isn’t the time to think about good manners!” he said a little troubled. “There’s something about that flower that doesn't ring true.”

“Well now, I am sure thou wouldst believe so times ago.”

“Really?! Gosh, do you think he saw the whole thing?”

“Peradventure. Howbeit, even if the power of the souls would entice many, I have confidence in him.”

“Should we trust him? Hmm… He does not inspire me this kind of confidence.”

"Instead of confabulation, come here and make me partaker of your speculations!" Flowey interrupted their flows of consciousness. He was smiling gleefully, a facade behind which he could hide anything.

"Hast thou decided to adopt my eloquence, Flowey?" Ioreon countered wittily, leaving aside discretion.

"Truth thou saidst noble spirit, I saweth a most dusty glow in thy pearls of wisdom, and already I GOT BORED!" he said and guffawed, without wiping that mischievous smirk off his face.

“May I ask you what the matter is?” Asgore said, in the grip of uneasiness now. “You looked so friendly and earnest a moment ago!”

“Oh but that’s easy!” – Flowey’s grin overturned into a grimace of disappointment – “Just a couple of reasons. First of all, THAT SPIRIT FRICKIN’ KNOW EVERYTHING! And I can’t put up with the way he talks. So Ioreon pal, sorry if I took you for a ride, but you might want to cut it out sometimes. Oh my! And also because I waited impatiently like an idiot someone willing to explain me WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE.”

His voice fluctuated between anger and irritation, to the rhythm of his gesticulating leaves. Afterwards he jumped down on the ground, which welcomed him with a crunching sound as he rooted in front of them, still throwing his annoyed gaze to the King.

“You Old Man didn’t come around here for yonks, so either you came to do a trip, of course not, or you hide something. So, I just thought I'd swing by, since you find the view of the Ruins so romantic. Golly, I didn’t imagine that even fireworks would pop though! Or that you two would share a little present.”

Asgore was dumbfounded, blatantly hiding behind his back the sack with one hand, while Ioreon quietly giggled the whole time.

“Don’t be so shaken Old Man, I just got to enjoy how you gathered that little light blue spark. So, why don’t you come clean with that sack of yours and tell everything?!” And with that pissed remark, Flowey get it off his chest, crossing his leaves as the ultimate sign of disdain.

“Thou deservest an answer methinks,” Ioreon interfered, causing Asgore’s resounding face-palm.

“Don’t you think that reasoning it out for a moment would be more appropriated?”

“Asgore, trust me in this.” Ioreon reassured him with a wave of his hand, or at least he tried. “Wherefore, I shan’t pinch thine emotional chords, but appeal to thine intellect Flowey. Wouldst thou like to make thyself aware of the mission we ourselves embark’d on?"

"Shoot!"

“Here goes nothing…” Asgore said, having serious second thoughts.

"Take heed Flowey, for this is our aim: we carry the souls of humans who ventur’d herein, to return them to their lawful owners."

Flowey’s eyes googled at the statement. Then he stared to Asgore again, or rather at the sack on his back. “Yum… that’s quite an interesting development,” he said half playful, half sly.

“There, I knew it!” – Asgore stated, getting defensive – “I can’t believe you have bad intentions! I won’t let you take possession of these souls who have already suffered enough!”

“Oh c'mon Old Man, I was joking! Heck, you’re possessive!” – Flowey floored him with a wink – “If you’d know that thanks to Frisk my life had an EPOCHAL change, you’d have noticed it, like your buddy there. If I had bad intentions I wouldn’t make such a big entrance. I'll play along with ya!”

“Are you serious?” Asgore loosened up his voice, although unconsciously he did not the same with his grip on the trident. “Don’t make jokes like that again! For a moment I thought you wanted to be a god!”

“A god like what? A photoshopped version of me? Fiddlesticks!”

Flowey towered disdainful in his smallness. Asgore blinked, stupefied again. Ioreon just rolled his eyes.

“Anyway!” – the flower spoke again – “I approve your quest. Whether and how it will succeed, that’s a different kettle of fish.”

“If we have thy consent we are supremely delighted, as for the rest leavest it to me and good King Asgore,” the spirit said, keeping twisting the staff, focusing the sight on its details. “’Twas everything thou wanted to know?”

“Umpf, no. Rather I have a request.”

“Quest and Request, thou couldst not choose a better terminology.”

“There you go again!” Flowey flourished a leaf menacingly. “See Old Man?! How could you ever stand him?!”

“Please, both of you, stop for a moment! You are making me feel dizzy!”

“So be it,” Ioreon said, motioning Flowey to talk.

“Yeah, thanks! Now, on a serious note, leaving all this nonsense aside, there’s something that worries me. Since you're here... could you help me out, pretty please?” Flowey assumed the pose of a pleading goody two-shoes.

Welcoming the expectant looks and their silence as an assent, he cleared his throat. “So, how to put this… Usually I don’t wander around these parts of the Ruins, in fact I have my stay in the outskirts, there where’s probably the only crack for the outside world… Darn! Don’t tell me you already guessed what I'm talking about!”

Asgore lost all his concentration, seeing touchy Flowey pointing his leaves to Ioreon.

“Art thou talking about me, perhaps?” He feigned ignorance.

“Who else? OF COURSE YOU! Your smart aleck eyes say more than anything else!”

“Marry, ‘tis really nice of thee. Thou art making me blush.”

“What the... Oh, wait. You don’t have the face to blush. You still gotta be kidding me.”

“Insightful, but ‘tis just an innocent joke, mifriend. Now then, anent what thou saidst, I had but vague feelings. But I prithee, makest us aware of thy disquietudes. God forbid I husht up a talking flower,” Ioreon retorted with his usual calmness.

“How can you be so… GAH! Whatever. Lately strange things are happening there. I hear scratching noises from the clearing where I'm planted usually, beats on the walls sometimes coming from that cave, but every time I go there, I can’t find any source of them. And every time it seems darker than usual, although there is a big ray of light illuminating all around. I know it sounds silly, but very few times I got the creeps, and this is one of those. Now don’t stare me with your strange eyes and tell me what you think of it, spirit.”

“Good enough, for there is little to say! That bringeth us to three proofs of indictment. I say it shall be better take a look without further ado.”

“Now we’re talking!” Flowey though out loud satisfied. “I just hope nothing bad is happening to them, and since it is my job to take care of the flowers there, something must be done.”

“Excuse me friends,” – Asgore interjected in their chattering – “Could you please let me stick my nose into this matter? I am seriously worried right now, too many mysteries have sprung everywhere in my Kingdom, and this is the latest addition to the count. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, right. You couldn’t know. That flower bed is Chara’s grave,” Flowey said, deadpan.

[Undertale - Ruins (Orchestral Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGb68ZBkP2E)

Asgore fell from the sky. “That’s Chara’s grave? And you knew that she was buried there?!”

“Well… Yep.” Obviousness still shone from the flower’s face.

“Look, at this point it doesn’t matter. All I know is that if there’s even a hint of danger, I won’t let her repose be disturbed! So let’s go and quell all doubts!”

And with that Asgore went straight ahead, towards the monumental stairway.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Flowey called out after him, soon to cling onto his faulds and clamber up to the shoulders. "Excuse me if I hitch a lift."

"Oh... Well, be my guest!" said the King, amazed and a little amused by that odd addition in their party.

It would have managed to get a smile out of the nonexistent mouth of Ioreon, although appalled by how the wefts of that remote presence probed deep into the Underground. Clever as always in hiding his worries, he just followed close behind the two that already were planning the best route ahead, despite the constant bickering of Flowey about every single proposal.

The dull echo of footsteps was thus heard once again in the meandering paths of ancient colonnaded tunnels and resplendent halls of stone, heading agile throughout the limitless extent of the Ruins periphery. They, monuments a time soaring just like the ones of the abandoned Royal City, suffered the same fate, fleeting memories of times gone by. The animated life abandoned those places, their absence conquered and filled only by hard roots and colorful foliage of alien plants.

The road however was well known to the three of them. It was flat and swift as they breezed past its countless traps, well hidden but easily disarmed by those who lived in there for ages. There was not a cleft left unveiled, just to pick up the pace, to settle the issue as quickly as possible. Travertine and porphyry rolled fast on their view, sparse streams did not make a stand to their wading and, rather than eulogize memories, they preferred to not stop, so as not to lose momentum.

“Gosh, this armor is starting to weigh on me,” Asgore said, just in sight of a very long corridor, its path beaten and uncertain in its course, plunged in semi-darkness.

"Are you kidding me?! We are so close right now, Old Man!” Flowey pressed him, his mouth practically attached to his ear. “You may be getting on in years, but you are still a tough monster!”

“Coming from the flower who’s clinging to me!” Asgore replied short of breath.

“If likewise I can give voice to mine opinion, ‘tis better to regain strength awhile. It would be wise to be ready beforehand for anything awaiting us. Hereunto, if there is naught but ancient scents, the return trip shall be as just as briskly, otherwise we shall have done well to restore flesh and spirits.”

“Can you spare ranting bombastic for a moment?! Duh.” The flower puffed unnerved. “We’ll do as you wish, but at least let’s move a little more. I won’t stay here, better a secluded place than a damp corridor!"

Asgore went along Flowey’s wishes with a nod, saving his breath for his panting along the passage, which he well remembered long and tiring. He leaned against the wall only when he was certain they reached the end of the hallway, where laid a lawn of spikes surrounded by water.

After several, painful attempts, since Asgore’s recollection did not want to hear about it, Flowey volunteered to guide his steps with the good old Hot and Cold game, barking when he was going to prick his big toe. With a bit of luck and balance, they made it through mostly uninjured.

“Thou couldst just ask me for a flight,” Ioreon said eventually. “But mayhap ‘twas better seeing the two of you collaborate.”

He did not notice however that the aforesaid two shared a knowing glance, laughing up their sleeve.

After that the walk became downhill all the way, the only unusual but harmless fact the moisture cloud that filled the lungs. Past one last corner, they crossed a wide open door because of a stuck lever, and found themselves in a grassy clearing where the breeze now flowed fresh and light.

With one last herculean effort, Asgore plodded on the side stairs and sat down on the patch of red leaves, resting his back on the aboveground walkway behind him, the sack next to him. Flowey crept down in like manner, having no more reason to do the climber plant.

“Since you have taken the initiative, I need not to invite you to rest,” Ioreon said while getting comfortable on the edge of the walkway, his robe dangling. “We shan’t continue further till you regain all your strength."

"Thank heavens! I was afraid I'd never get through here!” Asgore found the strength to speak, between a gasp and a gulp. “My, how is it going instead in the spiritual front, Ioreon? You still feel that thing, do you?”

“Unfortunately, aye.” The blunt statement hissed with a tone more convoluted than usual, enough to make Asgore’s skin crawl. “The presence grew tremendous, spreading like tendrils piercing walls and rock, trickling down brinks like black miasmas and rots. ‘Tis now so close, I taste it disgusting, even unclean. And aught lieth beyond those arches, is aware of our intrusion. I regret to explicate it in such a way, but it disturbeth my very being.”

It left the King speechless. But once he rationalized the fact and the stakes, he beat his chest with his open hand. “Come what may, I won’t find myself powerless when we will have to deal with it! The fatigue of days and days of walking is tiring me, but I assure you that I will stand up again in no time. For those children no obstacle is too great."

"Thou must believe it Asgore, with all thy might. I tell thee with my heart now more than ever before. This goeth beyond my comprehension."

* * *

[Quiet Waters Arrangement - Undertale](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBFyDReyTKQ)

The puffing and panting of Asgore melted in a peaceful snoring. He was lying down on the usual pallet, snuggled against the sack of souls, his armor creaking occasionally whenever his position became uncomfortable, unconsciously searching for another one. The now long grass swayed at the current coming from the marble arched mouth, while a constant and uninterrupted drippling marked time.

A state of pleasant stillness reigned in the physical world, but it could not assuage what Ioreon’s eyes spied inside the imbuing tangles of the Hyperuranion.

"You can’t sleep?"

The intent thought of the spirit detracted its attention, focusing this time on the talking Golden Flower, who had just arrived as his roots squeezed into a crack of the walkway, next where Ioreon sat.

"Well met, Flowey. Thou hast my thanks, but I need no rest."

"Are you sure? Everyone needs to relax sometimes," Flowey uttered neutrally. His mind was with Ioreon, but his meditative gaze was pausing on Asgore.

"I would like to savor it,” Ioreon said grimly, inducing Flowey’s eyebrows to raise. “Toil is bearable for those made of matter, even gratifying after its own subduing.”

Ioreon’s emotions did not transpire, if not with a hint of curved eyes watching the King and the sack between his cuddling arms, on a par with a well concealed smile, troubled and yet imperceptible to Flowey.

“Mine is different in nature, a fatigue whose defeat is ek’d by alone deleting concretely the source of it. I wish naught of the kind on anybody, for it only knoweth to be overwhelming, crushing as the will of evil creepeth into the mind like a bane, tenaciously design’d to bend. Yet I shall resist, my resolve is far greater than a veil’d threat."

Just as he brought it to an end, so too they reverted to mull over things. However, Flowey now peered at him, a tense simper of discomfort on his face. He was not so less perturbed than him, although for other reasons.

“Maybe it's not the best time to say this then, but I know for a fact that you're keeping an eye on me,” Flowey eventually said, devoid of his usual sarcasm.

“’Tis true, but my reasons may not coincide with thine.”

“Really? And what if you just can’t trust me?”  

Their eyes met. In those of Flowey there was hardly bravado, intimidated by the two flames that he thought capable of carbonizing his soul, if he had one. But he still looked up to them, like a firefly attracted by light.

“Don’t get me wrong, I have no more good reason other than my word to prove myself trustworthy. But things have changed. There’s no point in experimenting if I can’t go back. I’ll not feel anything even by taking these souls for me. Frisk was the only one that managed to unify the confused memories in those thousands monsters’ souls. They made me feel again…”

As he spoke, his restlessness unbent, as if a boulder oppressing him had just rolled down with a heavy thud. “It was a feeling so perturbing, penetrating… So warm and sweet. I wouldn’t be able to forget them even after another thousand years.”

Flowey released his held breath, and let his gaze wander into space. So far so good, except that the subtle chuckle of Ioreon was enough to make him notice the slip of his tongue.

“Golly! They were honest with me, that’s it!” Flowey replied hurriedly. “And kind too, but again that’s it!”

“Good enough mifriend! Thou hast convinc’d me,” Ioreon stated, his eyes still darting amused.

Flowey furrowed one disgruntled brow. “Boy, you like teasing people, arent’cha?”

“Nay lad, I just like to break hesitations,” Ioreon concluded, looking at him now interested to see his next reaction, but Flowey preferred to ignore him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

After all, his father was the one remaining at the center of his attention.

He scrutinized his snout, drawn yet furrowed by very few wrinkles, the knots on his hands hidden by white fur, firmly grasping the sack so as to not let it go, his constant breath and his eyes serenely closed, the same that recalled him the aftereffects of the end of a fairy tale. Disconsolate he looked at him, mindful of a happy childhood but no longer of its feelings.

“There is no lack of trust, on the contrary,” Ioreon added subtly. “One reason why I keep an eye on thee is that thou art in part the son of the King. I see frustration now as then, but thou prefer him alive rather than dead.”

“He’s still my Dad,” Flowey replied bluntly. “Thankfully the last thing I felt was the remorse for my actions. I would not dare lift a leaf against him ever again.”

A grimace of said frustration returned, sadly manifested with his biting of the lips.

"You know, I wish I could cry for him, even just once. How I hate this insensitivity,” Flowey said through clenched teeth, failing to find peace. “Is it possible that Mom can’t understand? Why she can’t find the strength to forgive him? She’ll relieve so many sorrows, his and hers.”

“My boy, I shan’t settle the matter with the excuse that thou art too young to understand. Thou discern clearly that the causes are grievous, and even more grievous are the consequences they are still hauling around. Indeed, ‘tis difficult to reach a compromise, let alone a solution. Yet a curing, though not a healing, appeareth on the horizon.”

“Yeah, but you won’t fool me,” – Flowey interrupted him – “Dad would not come here of his own free will. You are trying to pick up the pieces, urging him to do it personally.”

“I told thee thou art perceptive. This is the purpose I have set myself, and shall end where it started. But overestimate me not, for I just spell’d out the facts to him. ‘Twas thy father that decided to come, the exact moment when he cross’d the doorsill of the Throne Room. He doth not realize yet how much he shall be crucial, whilst I consider myself no higher than a tool.”

"Cool, then why you popped out only now?" Flowey pressed him curtly. Ioreon just stared at him.

"It’s a question that’s eating at me when you made your appearance, a bit late with all that’s happened,” Flowey said, his voice tone increasingly sullen.

“You told me to come, and I did it, stunned by how my father pounced on you, and you held your own like it was nothing. You are powerful, beyond time and space you said, but I've never seen you before. You know me and the harm I caused indiscriminately, but you did nothing to stop me. I saw the monsters unsuspecting of the protracted drama that fell upon my house, my parents curling up in grief, I myself a witness and performer of atrocities. You could have stopped this, spare us centuries of suffering. But you were not there.”

“I could not, lad.”

“And I should be content with that?” Flowey stared at him in turn with sunken eyes, his grin twisted into a sadistic corrugated line. “Why you didn’t do a thing? Are you like me, enjoying watching others suffer?”

A new duel of eyes broke out, but at that moment, the flaming spheres of Ioreon were reduced to a pale glimmer, as if deprived of the air that nourished them. Then he shook the staff on a bush that grew beneath the walkway, and attracted one of the many berries that had fallen, bringing it closer so that even Flowey could see.

"Look at this berry. ‘Tis mellow, with its peel enclosing the pulp and the seeds within. If this berry is Mount Ebott, I am part of it as well, but at first lock’d into the peel. In the blurr’d line betwixt reality and allegory, I was conscious of surroundings but unable to wake up. Thou may not like the answer, and believest me I regret to shove an excuse down a throat, but alas, ‘tis like to be stuck, unable to act, as enraptur’d in a dream."

"Stuck…" Flowey lowered his gaze, thoughtful.

"Exactly. And helplessly I watch’d everything, I felt the pulse of timelines that rewound and recreated in disparate alternatives, sometimes even more sorrowful and gruesome. This until the breaking of the Barrier, when time conform’d again, and I could move.

“I want to rebuke those centuries of inaction, restoring even by little the peace taken out from the whole race of monsters. Even from thee, tragic and innocent victim, become executioner for the perversity of causes and fate. But thou shalt see, for heterogony of ends, how grateful thou wouldst be of the form that thou hast, as I am of mine."

“Heh.” A sudden, short, suppressed laugh slipped out of Flowey’s mouth, barging in on his confession. “If it's as you say it is, all things considered, I am not even in the position to blame you.”

He contemplated his large leaves, the strange effect of warm light filtering through, playing on their pores and streaks like a starry sky. “Haven’t I been confined too, in a foreign body? But… how I’ve used this higher freedom of movement? No Ioreon, I don’t know how to call myself grateful."

"Why thou sayest such a thing? Thou hast..."

"LOOK AT ME!" Flowey shouted at him, only to ebb his voice again. "Just look at me. I am a talking empty box incapable of feeling any sentiment, bar the most primitive emotions such as urge of killing and fear of being killed. Look at me, what hope could I ever have, even though we came out of here? You're right, no one is without fault, and mine frankly has a lot to brag about!"

“Shh,” Ioreon whispered, rubbing his petals despite his protests.

"All is well. This may sound obvious, but art thou sure is not even worth a try? Hence, I promis’d thee that thou wouldst come hereout, one way or another, and I intend to keep my promise."

"You are far too optimistic! You… remember me Frisk, a bit. So, at the risk of repeating myself, don’t you have anything better to do?"

"What could be better to do, Flowey? Mayhap, save thee. As well as many others who need help, and thy father with them. So many possibilities that would be wasted, can be grasp’d and brought to fruition. If my reasoning leaveth me not, the pain endur’d in the Underground shall be repaid with a whole world just waiting outside."

"All these promises, all these assurances… for what?” Flowey turned to him rueful. “One day we shall all die anyway, here or there what difference would it make for an emotionless flower?”

"‘Tis eke true that all the other days thou shan’t die. Where thou shalt live those days is up to thee, and that is a big difference."

Whatever the desired effect was, Flowey looked away again. This time he smiled briefly, and eventually let out a chuckle.

"Let me infer, thou hast to say something about my antiquated way of speech."

"Yep!” The flower replied with a wink. “In fact, I’m starting to like it."

* * *

After a few hours of undisturbed rest the three, now refreshed, continued only for another short tract to the cracked roof den where, on a flat, firm ground without pits or fissures, stood a shy plot of grass, the abode of Flowey.

Here, in the middle of the room, came the air of the Underground from behind, almost giving a sign of encouragement as it swirling clashed with the oncoming exterior current that whistled ahead of them, forced by the narrow corridor. And like a whirlwind, they rose up to the rock cap, foretelling some upcoming conflict.

There was only a faint glow in the cave, granted by the tip of the staff like the flickering flame of a will-o’-the-wisp.

The last arch was waiting for them.

Asgore stood proudly, his red trident held in his iron grip again, vibrant with magic.

Flowey watched cautiously the black emptiness harbored in there, his leaves beaten by draughts.

But among the three, Ioreon was the most unsettled. His very being was in the throes of an interference that bleared his form, as though a headwind temporarily creased and tore his garments before adjusting again.

“Flowey,” – the spirit said, his voice raucous and ripply, enough to astound the other two – “Thy forebodings may portend the worst. On balance, methinks it would be better if thou comest not with us yonder.”

“But…” – Flowey looked at him dismayed – “I have every right to be there!”

“Not before we assess’d what lieth thereinto.” Despite its tremble, his voice was unyielding.

The King listened to the adamant decision. His serious and thoughtful look moved to pity, seeing Flowey head down, noticeably shaken for the grounds of that statement.

So he approached him, with in mind a painful initiative.

He unlaced the strap that held the sack on his shoulder. "Here, can I entrust my lot to you?" he said, kneeling before the Golden Flower and handing him the fruit of so many hardships.

"W-what? NO!” Flowey drew back from the offer, his crossed leaves signifying his refusal. “I mean, it’s unsafe to leave them to me, I might accidentally let the souls escape!"

"I am sure you will have great custody of them. I trust you, just as Ioreon has already done."

Asgore flaunted his most glowing grin and put the sack in his leaves. "Take care of you."

"Your Majesty, I..."

The King did not hear his bashful objection, already turning his back to them as he moved towards the marble arch, breathing in trepidation. Terror finally snatched the flower, frozen under the light that now drew near.

"Pray forgive me, Flowey.”

Flowey emitted but a feeble puff of air trying to answer, looking at the spirit to his right who struggled to appear undisturbed.

“There are eke many reasons in this case, but my foremost is that I care for thee and thy welfare. For what concerneth me, what is in force thither, dwarfeth evil to mere spite. Dour like a nether whence one cannot escape. Albeit it existeth from time immemorial, I feel it only now, boring into my core.”

The spirit too knelt beside him. Only then Flowey realized that he was still holding the berry in his hand.

“‘Tis as if at first liv’d far beyond the peel of this berry, and now in an instant infested its seeds. ‘Twas so pervasive that reveal’d itself even to thy father, warping everything whereon he cast his eyes. This… wickedness is arcane.

“This power I never appreciated until now, which I am unable to foresee, discern and even conceive… we risk to needlessly expose thee to dangers that thou canst not put a stop. This time there is no Determination to bring thee back to thy SAVE point. Indeed I hope that Asgore shall be able to sustain the mental pressure that may incur."

Lastly, he placed his hand on the vines that slowly were wrapping around the sack. “Now stand fast. I know that the temptation is strong, but thy reasoning is not clouded and shan’t be diverted. Thy father hath chosen to put his utmost trust in thee, and I am likewise confident thou shan’t betray it.”

Flowey withdrew his gaze, wearing irritation on his face. "I... umpf. I'll be good."

But his eyes still followed Ioreon once he stood again, going to join his companion. "Be careful," he said in a weak voice, holding tighter the sack in preoccupation.

The two gave a last look at him, for a final parting before the plunging.

"Fret not, we shall return,” Ioreon said, become stable again. “Even if we have to cross to and fro the sides of Ebott, we shall return. Remember: even in small things there is hope, and ‘tis always the last to die. I shan’t ever grow tir’d of saying it!"

“Please don’t die!” Flowey cried out to them, when they crossed the arch towards the last room.

There, things began to get strange.

At first, as one would expect, it was pitch dark. They fumbled in that corridor, heading at a slow pace to the faint glow that washed its far end. That light, more akin to a fulminating trap for moths than a beacon, was their only source of discernment.

For the light on the staff faded until extinguished.

Asgore stopped suddenly. He spread his arms to touch the walls and recover sense of direction, but they groped into a vacuum. The sound of his footsteps was muffled like under water, absorbed by darkness that likely acquired a consistency of its own.

He put his hand to his mouth, but the air did not reach it, his breath made deaf.

He tried to speak, his words dying once spilled.

He could no longer see Ioreon. There was only the flicker at the bottom.

He moved fearful steps forward, alarmed at the thought of stumbling.

Even further down, silence was broken by noises initially nonexistent. The walls that seemed miles away, throbbed rhythmically like they were inches from the ears. A fluctuating hum grew and buzzed around him. He even heard it behind him, but he would not turn back.

The hum grew again, becoming a repeated murmur of disconnected phrases, whispering again words of treason. It was in front of him, more and more hammering and earsplitting as he approached the end little by little.

 _Only a few more steps…_ Asgore spoke inside his mind, just to hear something else so as to ward off insanity.

Ioreon seemed to materialize only then, when he directed his eyes on the King. He did not pull them off him, now the sole torches able to shed light. That gaze alone urged him to go ahead.

Asgore went along with Ioreon, arm around his shoulders, guided gently towards their destination, where the darkness that swallowed them retreated.

The nightmare seemed to end, but more so any sound. Silence reigned uncontested, deadening every sensation, and with it every relief and every spur.

Both of them, heavily disoriented, descended the road toward a large depression, raising dust at every step. What showed up to them had allegedly been abandoned for centuries, maybe even for a millennium.

Asgore did not remember that place resembling a memorial garden, but at least he could hear again the sound of his breath.

It was a wide cave with high and smooth walls, closed atop like the nave of a cathedral. Intense sunlight entered from the broad hollow crater many meters above them, softly outlining the contours of everything. A vast clearing, interrupted by yet other scattered ruins, shone white and beautiful under the light.

Right underneath the hole, bathed like in a midsummer morning, stood the remainder of an open-air round pavilion, recalled by chipped marble columns arranged in a circle, surrounding a bed of Golden Flowers.

The slanting down rays dawned, and golden pollen hovered glinting. But the most wonderful vision, and so just as terrible, was a human child, chestnut brown haired and pink skinned, bowed and intent on picking up flowers.

Their attire disclosed each memory with a flash, as shown by Asgore’s loud gasp.

He hated his sight that seemed to bring out macabre jokes. Yet it also seemed so true.

He would recognize that child among thousands, unmistakable, never forgotten.

Chara.

* * *

The human child stood up, having her back to them. She seemed to notice Asgore’s steps while he, shocked, walked wearily up to her. So she turned around, welcoming him with her sweet and smiling face. Carefree she left the flowerbed with an almost childlike joy, hopping and shouting: "Daddy!"

Asgore, like under hypnosis, got close to embrace her. But Ioreon came between the two, without saying anything.

Chara looked puzzled. "What's up Daddy? Aren’t you happy to see me?" she said, a doleful expression on her lips.

"Dare not another step and reveal yourself," the spirit interceded on behalf of Asgore, rapt by the sight and almost unable to speak.

A brief snicker broke the spell.

[Undertale – The Fallen Child](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93q3irqZxxo)

The hum was back again, more surreptitious, subtle, but always present. A beat like that of a heart echoed throughout the room.

"I imagined that you would not fall for it, pedantic meddler. Oh my, where are my manners? Allow me." She bowed, her dark pupils peering at them. "Greetings. You know me but you do not know me. Call me Chara, if you wish. I am the demon that comes when people call its name."

Something was terribly wrong with her. Her body ranged in momentary and transient itches from intact to broken, returning soon after to that ill-concealed viewing of healthiness. Perhaps even more baffling were the two voices emerging when she spoke. The clear voice of a cheeky child above, and below a rough rustle, muttering incomprehensibly, a persistent drone uttered just when her mouth opened.

Asgore gawked at Ioreon, shuddering as he braced himself to speak. "Chara is your name, or what you want us to believe. You are the source of inescapable filth that pierceth my essence and unsettl’d the mind of my friend the King. What bringeth you here, not human but fiend?"

"So many and such things that you cannot even conceive, in the high of your intelligence.” She rocked back and forth, hands behind her back, simpering in a way so unbearable, her words still icy and virulent. “Knowingly I glimpsed a chink through which take my will into the world, here in the paradoxical universe of the Underground, indwelling behind the timeless Barrier. So vast possibilities inside this dreaded ingenuity among monsters, they too stupid to notice who would have doomed them all."

"Chara, is that really you?" Asgore battled against himself to regain control.

"Daddy, you look so tired.” Chara bent forward inquisitive, and transfixed his gaze. “What have you been doing all these years, other than bemoaning your lot?"

"What... what happened to you? You died. I saw it with my own eyes..."

Her mouth widened into an impossible sneer. "Live or die, empty words before the will to power. Poor eyes of yours, father, that did not see what served the purpose. The poisoning, the absorption of the soul by your goat son, the stolen body. They suited me well.

“A solid bridge between realities otherwise incongruous has been created, to exercise my influence on those too weak to resist. I was prepared to savor violence on dust, every execution ready to strengthen me. But if it were not for Frisk… Ah, what a pity. She showed such promise, but has so fallen short of my expectations.”

His lips trembled, his eyes, staring at the ground, went blank.

“Enough!” Ioreon stretched his free arm as to shield Asgore, but Chara continued unabated to twist the knife in the wound.

“I infused in her bored little heart the need to free up her violence, unleash it against all of you. What could do a simple child before my wit, stupefied by contrived words, benumbed by false promises? My thoughts scraped hers, until they could coincide.

“I did not surrender my aims when she repeatedly stopped her hand and came back with loadings and resets, and again I did not surrender when she undertook a journey of treacly and unctuous redeeming goodness. And yet, alas, she became improvident. Who could believe she would strive to free me too, the devil? Silly her, I swear she tried.”

Chara pointed her fingers to that ailing mouth of hers. “My smiling face must be quite reassuring,” she said, before guffawing maniacally.

“Chara, what are you saying?!” Asgore held his head in his hands.

"Mifriend! There are daggers in that man's smile! They are not Chara!"

“Yet indeed here I am!” she cried out, and what came out of her lips, resembled rather a death-rattle in the dark. “Contenting myself with the leftovers of a gutted Kingdom, now superfluous to such an extent that only echoes of nature resonate. Here I am! Rotting without anyone to relieve me from this putrefied corpse, forced by that bridge now turned into a prison gate. It would have been so much easier if my new vessel had proved up to the task!”

For a moment, her body seemed to writhe, her pupils turning red. Reality and illusion converged in that body to weigh on her festering words. The bystander King could no longer tell them apart, navigating in a quagmire of impossibility that put a strain on his sanity.

He grabbed on to Ioreon’s shoulder, grinding his teeth. "My daughter would never speak like this! You’re not the Chara I knew!"

"Try to re-evaluate your priorities, old King. I had been lost since forever.” The more time passed, the more her voice became detached, cold, enveloping and overwhelming. “Keenly, since a committed suicide, since an ill-will to make an attempt to humanity, since a desecration of a grave at the hands of your emotional wife. It was convenient nonetheless to put a dead on bare ground, allowing me to venture into the minds of the lambs who fell upon me.”

“In your eyes I saw the hope of humans and monsters!” Asgore shouted in anger and anguish together, slamming his hands on the ground. “You were the future of us all!”

“What's the problem?” she questioned, widening her arms. “Prophecies for simpletons, Daddy?”

“Silence, you unholy demon!” – Ioreon was heard again, as he knelt beside Asgore – “You have sullied enough with your words the memory of Chara! Dare spill more iniquity and I shall banish you into the depths whence you came!”

“Foolish shade, who do you think I am?!” she hissed with violent rage. Her voice, suddenly losing its melody, was more like a string of guttural verses. “You cannot do anything against a demon in the flesh! You understand nothing, you know nothing!”

Ioreon narrowed his eyes, while her voice soon returned clear and sweet. “After all, no one on this corrupt world was fully in control. No one is above the consequences, since they were already in my hand to begin with. Pompous arrogance and crass ignorance are truly befitting this miserable puppet show, so there is no other way but reset everything, down to the root, to cease the surviving illusion that is hope, now vain and mediocre as its proponents.”

“I heard enough! I command you to surrender your aims, for we shan’t let what you have declaim’d come to pass!”

"Aww, you are almost endearing to me, sprite!” she said, doing a ring around the rosie. “You really think you are capable to hinder the furtherance of my greatest plan? Please, come forth and do it, meanwhile I give you this pill to swallow, ahead of a world on the verge of utter dissolution: my influence shall not let those human souls be reunited to their bodies. Those will die in their sleep, and their souls will no longer have any bond holding them. They will disperse forever, and with them your hopes.”

Her mouth opened like a ravenous maw. “So, yeah, if you want to save them, your only option is to destroy me. Go ahead and sever all ties that abide by my dead body, rend this rotten carrion, if ever you have not only strength, but courage too.”

“ _Autem ergo una pax erit, illa de morte._ _Sic dixi ego qui reos nego_ ,” the second voice exulted, creeping over the first one and strangling it like it was in between snake coils.

A cackle deeper than the void filled the room, growing in power and delirium in those interminable seconds. Such was the effort that Chara’s belly swelled. Black liquid began to descend with sparse drops from eyes and mouth, falling on the floor and forming a puddle of pitch.

Suddenly, Chara ceased any sound. She folded in half, holding her belly by force.

"Daddy..." she said then, face down, with a gasp.

"DADDY HELP ME!" she shouted with all her strength, crying, facing the putative father. Her eyes were bloodshot, black tears and drool ran down from a corner of the mouth. Her face slowly disfiguring on sight by bites of decay.

"CHARA!" was the last intelligible sound heard, out of the mouth of Asgore, before being smothered in the resurgent, horrendous chortle coming from all sides, turning into a deformed bellow, a cacophony of demonic moans.

Ioreon had to apply great might to retain Asgore from going straight to her, while that sewage hid forever eyes and mouth of the child, as she sank and drowned into the black pitch.

It seemed that everything died down, but a sound like bass drums reverberated around. Asgore’s ears throbbed, the buzzing drilling his tympanums. The black pool lapped at the soil, just to wet his feet while he remained voiceless, seeing emerging gradually a humongous, unearthly abomination.

At first a face, that was not a face. An iron mask resembling a human visage, broken in half and missing its mandible, yet locked into a voracious perennial laughter, badly concealed beneath a skull without orbits, flat from forehead to its sharp teeth in disarray, long enough to hamper the closure of its mouth. Then a long bony neck of vertebrae, wedged together one after the other, more like an armored esophagus than a spine, stretched forward.

It was embedded to a wide body, clothed with a carapace of bend and pointed bone scales, shored with nails. Between the creases long tongues of countless gurgling lamprey jaws projected outward, pressed by throbbing muscle bundles and iron plaques that everted into a long crest of spears. There were no arms, only six jointed legs, so thin one may wonder how they could bear such size, pushing it upwards. Boiled tibias and fibulas snapping like pincers functioned as feet, piercing the ground violently.

That creature to say the least grotesque arose from the lake awkwardly. Yellowed was their appearance, their swollen belly, enclosed by barbed, oscillating ribs, was blackened by anthrax instead. From there, a myriad of bony fingers sucked that tar to weave a tangle of tendrils, which anchored the abysmal beast to the turf of Golden Flowers, the only colorful island now below their bulk, surrounded by that shallow sea of madness.

That mocker of a head without eyes turned to them and thrusted open its salivating mouth, declaring in a voice, jarring with their appearance, of warm and tuneful yet ominous baritone sound: " _Introitus: Ecce clarus adversarius gentium mortalium_."

Their every snap of bone, was a sword stuck into Asgore's heart. “Chara… my beloved child Chara?”

“Be not lur’d by their deceit,” Ioreon said, assisting him with his arm to get him back on his feet. “This is an unwholesome essence, and shan’t go unpunisht.”

The spirit blazed his staff in a white pyre. “Our moment of trial loometh."

“Chara… forgive me.” Aghast, Asgore had nothing else to say.

[Bloodborne Soundtrack OST - Blood Starved Beast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvUmL8uaE48)

The sun seemed to eclipse before the thunderous roaring head, decreeing battle. Darkness enveloped them again in its clutches, at the mercy of this blind beast concealed in shadows.

Asgore drew his trident, but there was no source of light letting him see where the demon was going to attack.

Soon he heard a bursting slam of wooden noise, fierce enough to glimpse its sparks. In that instant flash, the demon’s head was recoiling while Ioreon was retreating. The latter rose up the now bent staff and left it floating, flooding with new diaphanous light the entire lair so that even Asgore could see.

The impact did little against flesh and bone, so the spirit adopted a different strategy. He crafted in his hands a nonmaterial Zweihander, flickering in its cold and immaculate reflection. "Asgore! Aim for the belly whilst I hold them! May fear assail thee not!"

Once again he hurled like a bolt against the demon, but they were prepared to strike without notice, opening their jaws and spewing with heaves the black slurry, burning his clothes.

Asgore’s hands glowed of magic fire while going to the fray, sticking the trident prongs into the leathery belly skin. Streams of blood gushed out of it, yet they served not as a sign of pain but another weapon that blinded the King.

The skeletal fingers exploited his daze to entangle him among the tendrils and make him prey of the bone pincers. He answered, delivering random slashes with his summoned scythe, cutting into several frantic phalanxes, deafening himself under the howls of the lamprey mouths. Tongues whipped the air around trying to catch him but, freeing the trident, he skewered most of them, dirtying his armor with new stinking blood.

Ioreon struggled, sword against fangs, before another gush dragged him away. The demon planted their shins on the ground nearly crushing Asgore, and fired from the back a rain of nails that penetrated the ethereal form of the spirit. For the first time Asgore heard him scream, a deep outcry as if the heart of the cosmos was pierced by thousand ice needles.

The battered spirit got up and soon lunged again, this time heading towards the darting serpentine neck. Their head spun around aimlessly trying to clasp and crush him between the vertebrae. The spirit hit hard again and again with the sword, but the bones still proved coriaceous. The head took the opportunity to trap him in its teeth, so he could hear their voice speaking right into his essence. " _Tu conceptio, spuria nata, a me contaminaberis_."

Asgore made the imponderable to rescue him: he delivered another powerful slash that severed a large number of black tendrils and set fire to the belly, inflaming vermilion blisters.

The head let go of Ioreon, but it was not the one screaming. A disturbing wailing rose up in unison from all the mouths, proclaiming the onset of labor.

The King saw the head now dashing towards him, stopping just a few centimeters away. It towered like a horror upon him, petrified, feeling on his skin the condensation of that cadaverous breath, recalling sins of the past. His soul heard: " _Manus otiosae officinam diaboli sunt_.”

He never felt evil so close, transcending that of men and monsters alike, ancient, restless and unrelenting. And they let their countless mouths speak, expelling like firing mortars squelchy masses that fell everywhere, sinking. And at those points emerged dreadful, pawing quadrupeds similar to mules, calves and goats, jerking in the black waters, mad and desperate crimson eyed nightmares that charged at the King, neighing, biting and trampling him under their hooves.

The King tried several times to get up, knocking down as many of them as he could, but those once gutted melded together in vile deformed hydras, migrating amoeboid, choking him between oozy bowels and toothed tentacles.

An explosion of blue flames swept them away, as new offspring thickened the ranks. Ioreon dragged him away from the bedlam to the path leading to the entrance to take time, which they knew was short.

“’Tis certain now that this babel shan’t cease till we reduce that fiend to smithereens. I can harm but not destroy them, not with the means of mine.” His white robe had burnings of acid in several places, but his eyes did not cease to shine in the gloom. Asgore breathed hard, covered with horseshoes bruises that consumed his skin.

They stopped to look at them, advancing albeit clumsy due to their weight. The head derided them in its blindness, snickering with plangent pleasure, telling them while trudging on their own pustules: “ _Offertorium: Vos ergo, si adoraveritis coram me, erunt vestra omnia_.”

“Whatever it is, Chara is suffering, I can feel it!” Asgore said steadfast, gallant fury awakened in his gaze. “This time I’ll not stand watching helplessly!”

“Asgore…”

"You saw what happened as soon as I cut their tendrils. If we take as true what they said, and if those ties are the bridge that keep them alive, I’ll sever those one after the other, even if I had to drag that entire blob on my shoulders!"

"An incorporeal entity doth not last long without a support sustaining it into the material plane. Therefore I support thy feat, for thy materiality shall reach where I cannot. As thou persistest in injuring them, I shall create a diversion anew."

"Do not venture more than you should Ioreon! Be careful and don’t mind me, I’ll not be caught unprepared this time!"

Ioreon nodded and again flew up, pointing the sword to the enemy's head. "Suffer the stigma of Iupiter!"

A phantasmagoria of lightning broke from his person, casting thunderbolts wildly, carbonizing muscles, mucous membranes and minions.

The head growled, accepting his challenge. They vomited their bodily humors, black slurry mixed to red blood. Ioreon dodged the discharge by a thread. "Bend o’er the reins of Helius!" he announced again.

Golden strings projected from the palm of his hands, hooking their fangs. He bolted over the head and dragged it with him, tying it close to their own back and then wrapping the neck by revolving all around the body, passing ethereal through the forest of tendrils. They screamed furiously, thrashing about while Ioreon was preparing for another magical attack.

Asgore leapt at the chance to join the fight, tearing down every living obstacle with scythe and flame. In an outburst of rage, he mowed with all his power the black tendrils, thousands with his scythe.

The demon roared imperious, shaking themselves among the neighs and bleating of their crazed mouths. The bone pincers searched for him to no avail as he led his way through, more and more close to the island of Golden Flowers. And there he saw it.

Among the tendrils, like trapped in a spider's web, lied a scarlet red soul. But before he could reach it, the demon broke up the reins and dropped to the ground so as to crush Asgore under their might.

"Endure the ram of Plouton!" Ioreon declaimed, shooting an imposing gold ram with ruby eyes and diamond horns.

The metallic sound, like one of a punched bell, clamored the smash of the abomination against the rubble of the opposite wall. Asgore withdrew immediately, once again chased by nightmares.

"There’s the soul of Chara down there! I'm sure it's her!" cried out the King, busy dodging and landing blows.

Ioreon drove the last aberrations again with targeted fire. "They are indeed weakening, losing their grip on the world. Could her soul be the mediator betwixt the two planes, allowing the foe’s persistence in the material universe?"

“We have only one way to find out. I'm ready for the third round."

[Undertale Ost: 086 - Don't Give Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4qdpiad_Q0)

That infernal spawn stood up again with a bewildering rumble, unleashing a shower of boulders that collided on the shield raised by Ioreon just in time. They had all the intention to get serious.

“Asgore, that shan’t be easy. We are putting our very lives at stake for the words of the devil.”

“So there’s something you cannot give a definite answer.”

"Forsooth, but if thou art convinc’d of it, I shall follow thy lead and use up my every resource. May thine hits be sure, mifriend."

"I’ll try, but you don’t dare die on me! Only this I ask of you!"

"Same goeth for thee."

Thus, both ran to the center of the cave, positioning themselves as the demon launched themselves in a furious and ungainly race. The mouths spitted at industrial rhythm, and even swarms of horseflies and wasps now rose up out of the sea. Their march took on the traits of an apocalyptic procession.

In front of the advancing army, the two showered all magic at their disposal. Shafts of ice, columns of fire and thunderbolts flashed around the battlefield, splintering and incinerating so as to thin out as many opponents as possible, before charging head on.

Ioreon darted forward, the sword a jousting pole, piercing large familiars and charring small ones with his mere wake. Asgore went after the trail, wiping out those too far away to be caught by the rush, approaching again the tendrils, unbelievably elongated such was the distance between the demon and the flowerbed.

Ioreon then lift off, pointing at the faux face hoping for a sharp blow.

The impact was violent, the head had a whirling recoil, but no stunning could stop their mouth, puking again a black fan of acid.

Ioreon erected a new shield, but unexpectedly the head came forward agape. The teeth sank on the shield and reduced it into pieces, attempting to the life of Ioreon who strove to keep them open.

Before Asgore could get any closer, the head crashed upon him like a flail. The strength of the impetus spat Ioreon out from the mouth and jolted Asgore, sending them both where they started.

Exhausted, they got up again, seeing the triumphant beast sentencing again, reverberating in their ears: “ _Anamnesis: Omne sese delet et destruit. Sic et simpliciter detrudere in nihilo_.”

It came like a hot nail driven into the heart. The dread of imminent death tried to vanquish Asgore once again, as their efforts to assault were of no real gain.

"We shan’t die here, mifriend." Ioreon offered him an unseen and inscrutable smile.

He saw the spirit arise in mid-air, taking back his staff in front of the demonic head laughing uproariously. “The heavens speak, acclaiming the firmament! Eight Rulers of the stars, open your all-glorious gates! Bearers of the Baldric, rain upon the fell your astral blaze!” he proclaimed, and stood still.

The demon did not want to miss that golden opportunity and so they leaped forward to devour him, but a gray aura, like a thin line of vanishing mist, made them draw back their head in disgust. There they vomited to drench again the spirit with the black acid, but the mist deflected the shot to every direction except him.

"Asgore! Forgest ahead!"

The King gathered all the courage that his heart could handle, wrapping his fists around the trident and running, running to Chara’s red soul.

The sentient eldritch slime, a juggernaut that inch by inch resembled more its parent, would not let him go through, growing like a crumbling mountain that threatened to engulf him. Asgore created the greatest ball of fire of his life, squashing it on the gurgling blob and opening a path.

Beyond, he found himself observed by the shoal of blood eyes of the fresh quadrupeds’ legion.

“I’m going after you my beloved child, wait for me!” he shouted his resolve, rediscovering the intent of his existence. He dealt blows to left, right and center as bodies collapsed, raising the level of black waters.

But insofar as he lavished valor, the nightmares crowded incessantly in an amorphous wave, while ever-increasing insects bites wore him out. The battle was outlasting him, and tiredness was devouring all his might, in despair. The umpteenth wave washed over him, soon thereafter choking him in its whorls.

Then a salvo of white bullets, sprung from nowhere, pierced dozens of serrated heads, giving him again breathing space. Startled, he would never imagine being freed from the most unlikely of allies.

[Undertale - Finale Instrumental Mix Cover](https://youtu.be/06Yug-s1S-0?t=4m1s)

“Hey Old Man, did you miss me?”

“Flowey?” Asgore saw behind him the smiling and winking little flower. “FLOWEY! What are you doing here? It's too dangerous!”

“Yep, and I’m scared as hell, but not enough to see you kick the bucket.” The Golden Flower climbed on his shoulders and held onto with his own vines. “Now let’s not waste time in chatter and do what you have to do!”

“ _Ave inutilis herba, coluber serpens, vermis floree_ ,” the demon snarled as they heard the intruder, while ramming obsessed against the mist enveloping Ioreon.

“I have a gut feeling that they are mad at me! What the heck is this thing?!”

“That’s surely the furthest thing from what Chara is!”

“For crying out loud!” Flowey stated, firing another volley like a turret.

Then came Ioreon’s declaration, renewing their ardor. “I call forth thee, Saiph, Edge of the Welkin!”

It seemed that the stone vault above them hatched, ushering in a cerulean beam, which tremendous struck the demon with a slash. They foamed at the mouth for revenge, focused now to bend Ioreon with sewage and teeth.

The die was cast by now, and perhaps even Flowey would prove invaluable.

"Flowey, can you hold them off for me?" Asgore asked, lashing minions with tongues of fire.

“But of course! Smashing things is my specialty!” Flowey mowed down another throng, laughing like crazy. “Have you ever seen how beautiful are my friendliness pellets?!”

Asgore let out a sigh of glee, and led the way with trident impalements toward the shins of the abomination.

“Meissa, Twice Queen!” The clamoring Ioreon summoned two chains of incandescent cobalt globes, disfiguring the whole left side of the howling demon.

“ _Ipoclesis: Diabolus mansit igniominiosus, et intellexit quam bonum tremendum sit, et vidit quomodo virtus sit amabilis in sua figura_ ,” they said, their voice of rejection fed by inexpressible anger, while they blindly glowered at the spirit at each halted headbutt.

New uncanny amalgamates rose swiftly and frenzied, never stopping their gait even when Flowey bombarded everywhere like there was no tomorrow.

"Dammit, these are not just normal monsters! They just don’t stop coming at us!”

“Stay determined Flowey, and keep on firing!” Asgore broke the neck of a hideous mule with his bare hands.

“Mintaka, Alnilam, Alnitak, Triad of the Belt!” A shower of plasma petals fell thick, quickly and sharp as blades, clearing a path for them. The demon backed off, shouting in turn with another shower of nails.

The King and the flower coped with the bulk of the herd, pushing the waves back and down, but the golden island still seemed unattainable.

“Bellatrix, Sapphire Warrioress!” A glowing wedge of oscillating contours pointed the neck, riddling the vertebrae and destabilizing the head.

“ _Quis es tu, nisi miserabilem cumulum secretorum?_ ” Even when mauled, they kept taunting and jeering at him with a snap of the teeth. Their neck turned into a spiral shape to crash against the mist like a spring, dispersing it at last. However, before they could stop the sidereal litany of Ioreon with bites, Asgore managed to make his way up to the pincers, dealing a blow to the front right shin.

“Watch out!” Flowey tugged Asgore out of the way with his roots anchored to a protruding bone, as the maimed body collapsed forward.

“Betelgeuse, Hand of the Giant!” A comet of blazing red light fell vertically on the vulnerable demon’s back, squeezing and almost crushing them to the ground if they had not offered resistance.

“WHOA! That was pretty darn close! You had me worried there, Old Man!”

Asgore bro-fisted one of his leaves. "Luckily I have you with me!"

They could not celebrate just yet. The demon was no longer able to manage their arsenal, so they decided to go all-in for an untamed flushing of fluids from all their wounds and sores, hoping to drown them in a bloodbath of their own.

“Rigel, Left Foot of Orion!” An azure blast of biblical proportions evaporated their attempts, coagulating blood and sealing the open wounds with fire, shredding bony plaques and muscles, decimating armies and leaving Flowey and Asgore unharmed. They finally managed to delve through the last fingers and tendrils.

“ _Consecratio: ater cruor incedens ex obscuri lateris frons cadaverum devoret omnem animam viventem ductor ducens suus carrus testarum humanorum amens delirans dux sui agminis blattarum_.” The demon stood denuded, rampaging in scalded pain amidst the rejoicing of squealing aching tongues that arranged like a tail of peacock.

Their torment could only increase when Asgore sheared through each yarn and Flowey snatched phalanxes by force from the belly in the grip of haywire peristalsis, while they treaded upon the space separating them from Chara’s soul.

The demon was twitching uncontrollably, now reduced to tatters, their human mask devastated by cuts, their neck broken, their weight arched on the front. But they still resisted, hurtling again in a final try against the exhausted Ioreon while the bone pincers gave up to support the body just to kill Asgore and Flowey.

Before the irreparable could happen, the spirit paralyzed the demon in awe with the last of his strength, focusing blinding light on them, searing like stars’ phlogiston.

“Accurs’d abomination, cease to hinder and pour damnation! Hearken wick’d multitude, deceiver and instigator, yield and begone! Tremble and flee, poisonous betrayer, I adjure you to spoil no longer the peace of the living! May the foundations of Earth shake, so that your purulence be eradicated from its wounds!”

They nearly broke their jaw in one last roaring of affliction, soon to abate when Asgore toiled their last stroke, slicing over the soul of his daughter the last tendril that kept it bound.

“ _Completorium: Diabolus est qui decernit contra Deum, et ei acies est corda hominum_.”

It was the last thing they said, a neutral tone immersed in a last agonized laughter, behind their never-ending smirk, before being sucked in an instant into the claws of a black hole, thrusting out the three defeaters with a flurry and disappearing once and for all, together with their ocean of impiety.

In the end, there was dead quiet once more.

* * *

A blinding light struck his eyes, despite the closed eyelids. He raised his hand to shelter himself, and put it on the head soon after, still dizzy for the kickback. Slowly he got up, and looked around.

Bright sunlight descended afresh from the natural skylight, mildly illuminating the circumstances. Airborne specks vibrated about his gaze, and there was golden pollen in the air again, their unmistakable aroma with it.

His trusty trident was still by his side. Flowey was not far from him, uprooted and motionless on the ground, but still alive. Ioreon was nowhere to be found.

As for the rest, where he could lay his view on without straining it, it nearly seemed that nothing had happened. The signs of battle, however, were still visible.

The rocky wall in front of him lied cracked and dislocated, reminiscent of the demon's contours, while boulders buried its base. More boulders were strewn all over the place, some crushing under their weight the columns still standing, some shattered against the vault, some reduced to small pieces.

Most of the building complexes were like overwhelmed by the wave and then mounded all over the sides of the cave. Boulevards and avenues had been swept away. What once were colonnades, they were gone. The most heartbreaking downfall, however, was the remnant of the flowerbed.

At first he did not notice it. He propped himself against the trident, having no other adequate support to stand up. Limping and somehow shaken, pushed to go as instilled by a presage, he saw at last what happened, and the sight made his blood ran cold.

The suction withstood by the demon ripped open the ground, unearthing the grave of Chara.

[The Last Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MB4CJh2JW4w)

He rushed there ignoring pain and injuries at the risk of tripping, his urgency crutch ploughing through the ground. He cast it aside as he fell onto his knees at her deathbed.

In that split he saw resting a cocoon of tattered bandages, tightly fitted around the weathering body of a little girl deathly pale, her face uncovered and only slightly decomposed, and serene.

His trembling hands neared her face cautiously to contemplate it by touch, because his visual vertigo could not distinguish her clearly yet.

He wanted to pick her up for the last time.

“She is so serene, she seems to sleep…” he softly uttered, gently holding her in his arms.

Gradually, inexorably, she was becoming lighter. Losing its consistency, her body was unhurriedly flowing away in ashes and dispersing in a cloud of dust, running through his fingers. He watched her disintegrating, by now impotent in the face of it.

He breathed the blend of gold fragrance and saline human cinders, remembrance of ancient struggles and now of the many tears shed not in one but two nights, side by side with Toriel. Although he lost her for the third time, he kept vigil at her passing with the same dignity, as only a father can do in front of the deceased infant.

“I'm sorry my sweet ray of sunshine,” – he caressed her cheek, smiling back on her delicate smile – “I failed to show you your sun."

He believed that he would attend alone this time, but soon he felt Ioreon’s hand, kneeling too beside him and joining the all cried out mourning.

“Chara is free, but at what price?” the spirit said, solemn and somber. “Her I bewail, already defunct, now undergoing the degrading stride of centuries of durance.”

Asgore’s breath moved her hair, fallen prey to the insatiable time. “May she be free then and dissolve, rather than prolonging that vile imprisonment,” he replied, without any sadness in his voice, but reprieve.

One Golden Flower stood on the mound of torn dirt, the sole one left. “Chara, is that you?”

Flowey had drawn near unbeknown to them, his stem stretched as much as he could, looking into her face burdened by mortal weariness. “It's me, your best friend…”

His wordless and lifeless smile accompanied her collapse, not able to elaborate at the sight. The lack of emotions could not let him fully appreciate bereavement, but his face betrayed how heavy a loss is, now bent in the last goodbye to the one he cared about, even as a soulless flower.

And in that climate of silence, so that it would not have the last word, in a final, heartfelt inspiration, spontaneous words gushed from Asgore’s mouth and raised an elegy, as her own memento mori.

 

“The dark sea of guilt shriveled in a feeble wail.

Fallen golden petals wrapped your cheeks pale.

My lament can die at last, for the shade has passed away.

 

“The golden dream shan’t be tarnished by sadness.

No one and nothing shall drag you again into darkness.

Lay down lulled by our song, and fly forever free.

 

“May a refulgent sunray shine upon you, my precious gem.

May a silver moon gleam shroud you, my underworld diadem.

Pour tears no more, for woe and pain dissolved away.”

 

He let out just one last, fair tear on her cheek as he kissed her forehead, before vanishing completely under his eyes.

“Rest in peace my sweet love... in peace.”

 

Chara – New Home, 203x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.  
> Latin sentences and their translations (some are actual quotes) are as follows:
> 
> Autem ergo una pax erit, illa de morte. Sic dixi ego qui reos nego.  
> And there will be only one peace, that of death. Thus I spoke, who reject the guilty.
> 
> Introitus: Ecce clarus adversarius gentium mortalium.  
> Introit: Here it is the great enemy of mortalkind.
> 
> Tu conceptio, spuria nata, a me contaminaberis.  
> You idea, born bastard, by me shall be contaminated.
> 
> Manus otiosae officinam diaboli sunt.  
> Idle hands are devil's workshop.
> 
> Offertorium: Vos ergo, si adoraveritis coram me, erunt vestra omnia.  
> Offertory: If you therefore will worship me, all shall be yours.
> 
> Anamnesis: Omne sese delet et destruit. Sic et simpliciter detrudere in nihilo.  
> Anamnesis: Everything erases and destroys itself. It is but a mere plunging into nothingness.
> 
> Ave inutilis herba, coluber serpens, vermis floree,  
> Hail weed, crawling snake, worm of a flower.
> 
> Ipoclesis: Diabolus mansit igniominiosus, et intellexit quam bonum tremendum sit, et vidit quomodo virtus sit amabilis in sua figura.  
> Ipoclesis: Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely.
> 
> Quis es tu, nisi miserabilem cumulum secretorum?  
> What are you, if not a miserable pile of secrets?
> 
> Consecratio: ater cruor incedens ex obscuri lateris frons cadaverum devoret omnem animam viventem ductor ducens suus carrus testarum humanorum amens delirans dux sui agminis blattarum.  
> Consecration: Black Blood advancing from the dark face of the corpses, devouring every living thing, head master of the chariot of human heads, raving delirious general of his army of roaches.
> 
> Completorium: Diabolus est qui decernit contra Deum, et ei acies est corda hominum.  
> Compline: It is the devil that fights against God, and their battlefield is the hearts of men.


	10. X – Everlasting Restoration

[Undertale OST - Small Shock (GENOCIDE) Extended](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqWixE_2_CE)

Twilight gleamed glittering down below, long before the sun went down. Breeze rushed from above, but a mute immobility rested on the air. It seemed that even the rustle of trees descended from the hole, as a faint cry for a daughter of the world above, lost forever.

The marble came back to shine in white, raised on its own ruins. Light danced through polished and frosted stained glasses. A steady toll seemed her beating heart.

Although fresh survivors of a battle, it took them all the rest of the day to restore the site to its appearance, even if only partially, even if differently. A small but solid mausoleum was now in place of the torn earth and the scattered Golden Flowers.

Dusk was now reddening the walls and columns of the cubical building. It seeped bright through willowy colored windows, and darkened when reaching the friezes, inset under the shadow of the pediment. A dome upon eight soaring columns overlooked on corbels the entrance, and at the top of it lied a fenestrated and richly adorned marble lantern, enshrining a silver bell forged from transmuted stone, pealing softly against the wind.

Asgore personally engraved the epitaphs, outside and inside the mausoleum, her spent lifetime with her family translated in poetry, branded with fire on stone to resist evermore.

Ioreon applied himself with skill in sculpting floral patterns and carving baroque decorations at every corner, purifying each color in an immaculate white.

Now they stood under the lintel, to meditate on the lightened cinerary urn placed in open view on a pedestal, surrounded again by Golden Flowers, planted indoors thoroughly by Flowey.

The world stopped for them with all its anxieties and desires, immersed in the eternal dilemma of life and death, as abducted by a timeless splendor. No other sound dared occur, almost falling silent voluntarily before the dense and unvaried resonating of the bell, dignified as a beacon for lost travelers with its stately and crystalline toll.

There, at the end of all things, another small tear made its way on Asgore’s lips. Its taste not bitter, but sweet.

“Once this place was blissful, just as Toriel found it,” Ioreon broke the silence, head bowed. “That peaceful candor hath been return’d after such devastation, wherefore she may repose with dignity for many other years to come.”

The corners of the King’s mouth slightly rose. He awoke from that composed slumber, and let the wind carry away the petals in his hands, amidst the golden dust that still hovered all around. His free hand glided on a smooth entryway column, dedicating her one last look. “Stay determined, Chara. In death as you were in life. So that you will finally make it home.”

His torn up and crumpled cape fluttered wild, while he descended the path deleted by the fatal wrath, silently walking away, towards the archway from which they entered. He knew that it was time to go, so that the quest could be brought to a close.

The earlier voices had subsided, and there was no longer a trace of sad melancholy on him. Yet more than once he had to think about what had happened.

Ioreon did the same, following him afterwards, swaying with the breeze in an uncertain gait.

Flowey often paused to watch dreamily the white mausoleum and the urn surrounded by Golden Flowers. Still he held in mind the purpose he set for himself. Only then he went under-earth, waiting for them on the other side.

* * *

“Why was my daughter in there?”

Asgore stood with folded arms in front of the spirit, bags under his eyes and grim incredulity perspiring from his voice. “What just happened to her, if what I saw was not Chara? What was that repugnant abomination that took her likeness and knew so much about us all?”

“I do not know,” Ioreon replied uncertainly as much as he. “I recognis’d naught pertaining to Chara, or at least what once was she. ‘Tis a concept that escapeth elusive my fathoming like a shade.”

"Please, don’t be enigmatic!" The King waved his arms impatient. "There must be something understandable in what you saw! What this has to do with Chara?”

“Asgore, placate thyself. I have only suspicions and an omen that nageth at me, and naught else.”

Flowey watched them static and apart, and often his eyes fell on the sack in his leaves, turning them away immediately after. Dozens of thoughts surfaced unceasingly, and his face frowned just by listening to them.

The King took a deep breath. “Then tell me, no matter how terrible they are. It all happened so quickly, so suddenly… It just shocked me. I could not even speak. While for the rest it’s so out of place that makes absolutely no sense.”

"Thou hast grasp’d the gist, mifriend, they were in a hurry methinks. Their appearance fleeting as their disappearance is suspicious. The suddenness of this event suggesteth many elements not consider’d erstwhile by me."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Asgore asked, his arms folded again.

"Anent the fiend we fought, I never felt their presence in my long years, yet ‘tis not dissimilar to what linger’d, not as much throughout the Underground, but rather upon the humans who have come and gone. Only now, they have spread far and wide their influence. As though they wisht to be discover’d…” Ioreon paused a moment, seized by a thought.

Then he went on. “They might have reveal’d profusely those secret things, by then consider’d depleted in their purpose, to confuse us. Or forewarn us.”

“Oh but that’s great!” – Asgore interjected dryly – “If they wanted to hurt me, they succeeded splendidly.”

"This would be but a mere altercation, and thus a motive too simplistic. Their intention was incite us to attack perchance, and this would be most likely. In all probability, we have play’d their game, yet their reasons might be manifold. They ultimately remindeth me of Hyperuranion entities, my peers and perhaps even superiors."

The King began to rub his temples. "Gosh, this whole thing of the Hyperuranion will make me go crazy."

"And that is why explaining it, is more trouble than ‘tis worth. Forget about ghosts or spirits, we are dealing with veritable ideas with self-awareness..." Ioreon cut short the speech, nipping in the bud every other word, refraining from saying more.

"But, really! Don’t keep me hanging!” Asgore said, clasping his shoulders. “We are talking about Chara!"

"Asgore, the logic between the two planes is quite different. ‘Tis like hoping to make thee understand that with a bucket thou canst indeed empty the sea."

Asgore boggled. “What?!”

"’Tis all and naught. What we have witness’d may very well be a seed developing in one direction or in another, in search of contingency: the tangible seeking transcendence, or the abstract pursuing immanence. And the matter befell on Chara, more or less aware of such whereabouts."

"My, I guess that this time I have to agree with Flowey. When you talk like that it’s impossible to follow you."

Ioreon answered with his silence and an unwavering gaze. His outdated speech as usual constituted a bastion where withdrawing when required.

Still, restlessness was stressing the mind of the King, until it forced him to walk back and forth, as an attempt to quell it. "So, let me try to understand something here. You're telling me that this... thing, was incubating in the Underground behind my back, am I right?"

“Verily.”

"But you cannot tell what they are."

"Not at all."

"Then at least tell me we didn’t hurt my daughter."

"Dost not even bear thinking about it!” The tone of a concerned parent received in response the seemingly horrified one of Ioreon, stopping him in his tracks.

“A being of the physical universe is the composition of body, soul and mind. Thou saw her soul imprison’d and touch’d her mortal remains, and there is naught more tangible than that.”

"That’s just it Ioreon, what about her mind then?"

"This… we cannot know.” Now Ioreon was hesitating, just as Asgore learned to notice thanks to the liveliness of his burning eyes.

“Once unbound, it probably found the Hyperuranion by now, as any abstraction devoid of concreteness would do. Nevertheless hearken me, the fiend was not thy daughter, and even if they depended on her, they have naught to do with, no more. Put thine own mind at rest, for she now repose in peace." A beat of the staff on the floor got his point across.

"This comforts me. But still you are not telling me everything, are you?"

"Nay, for the picture is not complete, and about the things I know, I doubt that thou wouldst understand now."

Asgore sighed loudly, but then smiled. "I hope that's all resolved for the best then. I trust you."

To close the book on all this, he adjusted his wristbands and his ever-creaking armor. A new resolution took hold of him, now that everything ended with a triumph. “We must carry on, there are others waiting for our help. They have waited for far too long!”

Then something tugged at his cape.

Flowey was below him, plainly impatient as he cleared his throat. The sufferance for what the sack contained had become untenable.

He heaved a glaring whiff of relief when the King became aware of him. "I hope there’s no anger, your Majesty, for having left them alone. I’ve often stretched my leaf, but I held back from taking them when I saw them trembling and banging on the glass in the direction of the archway, like they were scared by something that was going on there. They had it right."

With shaky leaves, he handed it to him. He felt on his petals the caress of the King, before shouldering the sack. "And I admire your rejection in using them, and your courage after enduring the dark hallway and that repugnant being! I will be glad to have you with us again up to my throne room, so that you can be a part of the salvation you have also contributed."

Flowey looked away. "I... I don’t feel at ease to go that far. I’d rather stay here. Now in addition to the flowers I have to take care of a monument worthy of a princess!” he added proudly. “This is what I intend to do."

"Oh, golly.” Asgore’s brow corrugated with a wrinkle of displeasure. “Well, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but you are welcome in case you’ll change your mind. For me, whatever you do will be the right choice."

That said, he departed from Flowey, who seemed to have a final afterthought, but he backed out at the last moment. The other in the meantime motioned to Ioreon the arch at the back, grinning from ear to ear. “So, shall we go then?”

His was a smile. But Ioreon’s gaze told that something was off.

"Without fail Asgore. Leadest the way, for I shall join thee anon. Just let me bid my farewell to Flowey."

Asgore just nodded, and the smile closed up behind his lips. A nasal breath, and he proceeded further, mentally preparing for the return trip.

As soon as the King walked away, the Golden Flower scowled at the approaching spirit. "If you're going to gulp me down your usual sing-song, you're way off," he said, understanding right away Ioreon’s intentions.

All the while, the spirit held his hands behind his back, the staff floating by his side. He sighed.

"Thou art stubborn as usual. Obviously I was not convincing enough."

"That's not the point!” He turned the other way around with his leaves crossed. “After everything you’ve said about Chara... No, I have to stay here with them… I mean her, and take care of her grave.”

“If that is what is pressing thee, worry not. I shall lavish such care myself in thy stead, for the spatial mesh cannot hold me down. Moreover, naught precludeth you to return and visit her all together.”

“You would…” Flowey felt hit in the only bulwark that bound him there. “I don’t care,” he said finally, looking back at the wall.

“Gadzooks, I made thee a promise and thou rejectest it, and ‘tis fine. But even thy father ask’d thee to come! Dost it for a kindness to him at least."

"What a nuisance!” – Flowey faced him again – “There’s no getting around it! What do you hope to achieve, that things will change? That’s just wishful thinking!”

“Thou art indeed stubborn.”

“And you’re an idiot, just like Frisk! They wanted to get me out of here, and you are no different! Can you people satisfy my inability of feeling something, anything?! There’s no more compassion, sympathy, sorrow, anger, heartbreak and love in me! These things only make a life worth living, even feeling anguish would be gratifying than this awkward receptacle!”

He started to show off his colorful range of facial expressions, so many to confuse them all in one big grimace. “I have only this face that attempt to simulate them, but basically I don’t give a damn about anything! Now that they are all gone away…”

His outburst died down, his sight locked on the ground, and his voice sought desperately a shred of placidness, because of a mere statement of facts, which cannot be undone. “I deserve to be alone. It was fun while it lasted, and I wanted it to continue with all my strength. But it wasn’t right, and that’s better it's over.”

“Impossibilities exist, but this is not one of those. We are just dragging this out,” Ioreon chastised his thoughts, with the same power of the wind coming from behind that howled at his words. “What is keeping thee from not granting others the joy of having thee with them?"

"Joy? Are you just dumb or something?”

"Let us move on then. Flowey, art thou afraid of happiness?"

Flowey huffed in exasperation. "What part of ‘not being able to feel anything' don’t you understand?"

"Skirt not the issue and answer my question."

"But... why ask? To what benefit?"

It was then that he saw a Golden Flower in his hand, twiddling it so to admire its veining.

“Do you intend to continue doing these magic tricks?” Flowey grumbled, but the spirit ignored him.

"Pray forgive me, but there is a behoof, and I shall help thee grasp it. The absence of a soul did not make thee lethargic, dost thou see? ‘Twas solitude to alienate thee to atrocity, but someone hath forgiven and embrace’d thee, after unspeakable torment nonetheless.

“Now look at thee, thou hast not given in to the impulse to use the souls, thou accompanied thy father against an abomination, thou hast dedicated a mausoleum to thy sister, and still wantest to dedicate thy very self to her grave. Thou hast even contraven’d what I told thee, but for a good purpose, for their own good. Dost thou understand that there is concern in thine actions? That the smile of a human child was worth a change of behavior?”

Flowey’s face unwound, astounded by his verbosity, but also his veracity.

“The sentiments thou art grieving are meaningless when curl’d to mere egotistic feeling, for they acquire richer value in view of the intended good to others. Albeit thou canst not feel anything, this doth not prevent thee to treasure and sustain the lives of those all about. Affection can be felt, but also given freely.

“Thus, thou canst choose selflessness o’er selfishness, which even devoid of emotions as a parameter is a precious blessing to everyone. Therefore, usest thy Determination for what I ask of thee, and chance it: nothing to lose, everything to gain."

He held out the flower to Flowey. “Even being a simple flower, thou hast seen enough, more than any other.”

Tender and redolent, apparently delicate with its thin stem, yet so durable and strong wherever it took roots, was welcomed in his leaves. Always surrounded by them, he himself turned into one of them, but maybe he never dwelt upon it.

"I want happiness… But I know I can’t get it back. As much as I find sweet the perspective to live with my parents…” – the cheerful image of the eighth child flashed in his mind, and he almost hated to admit it – “With Frisk… I haven’t the courage to do it. Still all of you give me more hope than I deserve."

“I myself am in debt,” Ioreon stated, smiling with his feisty eyes. “If ‘twere not for Frisk we would not be here talking. In sooth, I can only do what little allow me time and circumstances. So holdest back not and comest to the Throne Room. I have to keep my promise, dost thou remember?"

Flowey was about to argue, but he failed, when something else came to tip the scales. To his surprise but not Ioreon’s, a human soul, ruby red like live blood, breezed past him and then stopped next to the spirit, fluttering.

"After all, there is still something that Chara wanteth to do, ere she leaveth at last. For against all odds, all that was left behind is seeping out into the morn light."

He pulled out of his robe a containment cylinder, concealed until now, and put it down on the ground, in front of an even more bewildered Flowey. "If and when thou shalt come, by her shall be decided entering hereinto. At the very least, thou shalt give more attention to her than me.”

And having said that, he left him alone, contemplating the soul and its mystery.

* * *

[Small Shock - Instrumental Mix Cover](https://youtu.be/i9ScFBO5NAc?t=11s)

Soon the spirit reached the King, already off to a start and thoughtful, and together they embarked on the way to New Home.

As promised, their road continued peacefully over those onetime beaten by monster folk, and after such an adventure, it looked like just a long walk, where wandering off with memories, like inmates robbed of the sky above, yet moving freely with catlike and attentive pace through the bowels of Mount Ebott, a gilded cage that all monsters learned to love.

Thus appeared to them Home, for one more and hopefully last time, placid outlined with its ruins, now that every diaphanous light had dozed off, and the black shadow had fallen anew as the veil of sleep. This time, even his old home instilled in Asgore its ancestral and slight feeling of charm and lightness, and he did not dwell on its nostalgia anymore, perhaps having finally smoothed things over with the past.

Its underneath tunnel thundered with footsteps and the steady beat of the illuminated staff, until dying behind the grinding of the gates on stone, letting the cold wind, blowing relentlessly, to revive with new resonance the snowy and fixed world around Snowdin.

Every snowstorm had ceased upon their return, although frost still bit his snout and needled his eyes. Yet it seemed rather a pleasing refreshment, by shaking occasionally muscles with shivers, as he dug footprints in the thick snow together with the sonorous sinking of paws.

"Hey, I just remembered,” Asgore said, as soon as they went along Grillby’s, whose pantry was again plundered of its last leftovers. “Look over there, there it is. The warning sign."

He indicated in the distance, its incisions still fresh on the wood. Any fear aroused by it, were like broken by the soft laughter of Ioreon, vanishing its remnants in the King's mind with a knowing glance.

"Ah, I eke remember. Mayhap ‘twas that playful river person. Probably before they left, dragging their boat,” – Ioreon pointed the finger at the trail of broken twigs – “They have seen fit to warn passers-by. Their words make no lie, and indeed ‘tis very worthy of attention, but fortunately I am not the culprit.”

“Golly, I made a fool of myself, eh?”

“Nay, thou wert just protective. Like a good father towards his own children.”

And in those words, still blank but uttered with suave accord, the King found comfort, and he too indulged in a hearty laugh, to which even the wind seemed to rejoice.

That renewed vigor, he poured it all on his legs, and without showing signs of stopping, they gladly arrived in just one day to the immense side of the pseudo-mountain, at the entrance of the road tunnel to Waterfall, even-surfaced like a hole drilled by a goad into its rocky flesh, by them not yet traveled.

The bluish light penetrated inside, bouncing off the walls tough as long as it could, up to darkle as they went deeper and deeper. But here, to support their crossing, it was replaced by the myriad of bio-luminescent bluegrass and glowing waters, coming to their aid. They guided them safely over ferns and reeds, thinned along the watered down path.

For just a moment, Asgore wanted to pause in front of a worn stone statue, sitting hunched up with its bent shoulders as afflicted by an incurable ailment, its only comfort a threadbare reddish umbrella in its arms. Who was represented was by now indefinable, but to him he was still clear as day. It spoke to him, with a recurrent tune of few notes, sad yet beautiful in its incessant repetition, repeating until one day it will have no more strength to sing.

Its concealed expression was enough to touch him. He decided to pay one last tribute, the smooth fragment of chiastolite found in the Hotlands, thinking about the glittering appearance of the two alternating crosses, black and brown, conflicting like monition and redemption, earth and spirit, or whatever else those may mean. A fiery stone upon cold stone, a sign for itself, almost like symbolizing the actions of that unknown hero he knew and loved, and that he will never see again.

The dripping in that solitary cave paled before the roaring falls, endless descending courses of water that sprayed droplets on them, the one and only rain in the Underground. But it was not cause of nuisance, just like the puddles washing away the mud under the feet, or the dense cloud of aerosol swiftly entering the nose and refreshing the lungs, or the drop cleansing the now dried salt of tears.

And for once it ceased, under the vault of false but bright stars, leaving them lost in the vastness that spread in front of their amazed eyes, smallest even in the face of the Royal Castle that haughty guarded the horizon.

“Howbeit, pray tell, hath thy mind reconcil’d with thine heart?" Ioreon said, as they stopped to admire a statuesque beauty again. Asgore stared at their return and destination, giving a quick glance to the spirit, who peered at his slightly strained features.

“There is a sense of weightlessness inside of me, that I cannot put into words,” he replied. "In recent days new vivid dreams invade my sleep, no longer sad and chilling, but rather colorful, and vital. Now that all the souls have been gathered, they are fulfilling, soothing, covered with incommensurable beauty.”

He bowed down his head to look at his feet, and revealed his thoughts. His voice was mild, no longer weighed down but relieved. “I still find it hard to believe that, after all these centuries, a happy return would be so palpable, but we are so close, that I can almost touch it! So then, I feel I must thank you for this companionship, and for how far it has endured in spite of trifling disagreements.”

“Yet ‘twas thee, through thine own forces, to have done the impossible. I did but show thee the way. The merit is thine, and ‘twas mine the honor to have accompanied thee, my Lord and my King.”

And after another knowing glance, Asgore defused it with a wink. "Said like this, it seems just stepped out of a theatrical performance!"

Ioreon’s flames arched stupefied, but then he laughed softly, a tinkling laugh like the foregone rain on the King’s armor. "That is something that surely shall remind thee of me!" he stated, to which the King beamed willingly.

Taking heart again, Asgore decided to lead himself the way this time, finding the small remote village where they had left it, and the dark yet sparkling cave, and the whispering Echo Flowers garden, past the suspension bridges over the abyss, all the way to the Hotlands, within just two days of travel.

He almost missed those gusts of hot air, came as soon as they stepped over the opening. Again, the heat stubbornly slipped in between the folds of his armor, but precisely because it was unbearable, it pushed them to hasten their pace.

The triumphant magma waves shook the sides of the cliffs, but it could not break the road yet. The scattered buildings, once located in safe places, were corroded down to the bulkheads by molten rock, their facades giving visibly to accelerated wear, and to a similar fate relapsed the elevators, of which there was no trace for most of them.

Throwing away his pride, Ioreon carried Asgore a couple of times on his shoulders to reascend the steep uphill ledges, where the air already breathed fresh so that the rise turned tolerable, earning in one day the entrance to the MTT Resort.

It welcomed them with lights off, its electricity completely exhausted. Built-up water of condensation infiltrated its ceilings, staining them dark, wetting velvet and silk left there to gather dust, while that of the fountain, drained away, filled with moss Mettaton’s sculpture, now tumbled to the ground. They moved on without a backward glance, surpassing again the suspended iron bridge, gradually affected by rust, acceding the just as silent CORE, entered into forced standby mode.

Ironically, the only light that did not falter was the waving one of Ioreon, a scene already seen that outlived though the autonomy of that technological prodigy that, to those who counted on it, would no longer allow their return.

And lo, finally, the very champion of silence, immobile and unmovable awaiting their return like a patient mother, ruefully impoverished with her abandoned white halls and spires, lying on her sleeping bed like her far away sister. Yet, as if she heard them arrive from a distance, she greeted them in a different light, no more gray and oppressed, but luminous for some reason.

She accompanied them with her languid gaze, bringing them closer to the inner circle, right where palaces surrounded the Royal Castle, placed in defense of the break outward. She hosted them in the refulgent corridor of gold, its colors radiating from the windows, between solid columns gilded by light.

It was there that Asgore hesitated.

[Undertale OST - The Choice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4Wv5M9JPao)

The moment was near, needing the stairway alone, down the path, to take the plunge.

He stopped halfway regardless.

The glow filtered up to him, highlighting his tired face. His mind heard the sound of the mausoleum bell. Days and days of crossings and carelessness with his body by now exhausted, back and forth where fate would take him, uncertainty and any strange feeling which he was prey, fled emptying him.

And now the looming future fell piling atop, layer by layer in the aspect of a mighty wall, almost a novel Barrier that prevented him to view the sun and the moon and the true stars.

He looked at his hands that, despite everything, were still white pearly. But he did see nothing other than red bloodstains. The past kept calling him, back from where he came. He was ready for them, but to go with them himself, he was not. His salvation still seemed too far for the eye to see.

"What will become of me, when even this last purpose will be consumed?" he said, his head bowed.

Ioreon stopped as well. The floor rumbled the beat of his staff, planted on the ground.

"It shall be light, and mirth. To those whom thou hast taken the life, it shall be given back, and thy sorrow crown’d with bliss a hundredfold, and a new morrow. Lingerest not now Asgore, for most people are waiting thee. Thou shalt find here no peace, but mourn."

He turned his head to him. Whether it was the voice, or his piercing gaze all of a sudden, exuding stoic steadfastness from his being, Ioreon tried to reach him beyond the wall of uncertainty.

He could not stop now.

Asgore put his foot forward, and exhaling said: "Let us go ahead."

The sense of vertigo swallowed the stairway once again, but he still walked down it, the trusty and most precious sack over the shoulder, and with relief he ascertained that each step lifted the weight that he dragged on since forever, until he came to Ioreon, waiting for him at the door to the catacombs.

This time he entered first, breathing easier when he heard the soft respiration of the six humans, still immersed in their deep slumber. He imagined how they could be now by their vaguely hinted features, under their mortuary bandages, trying to remember the first time he saw them, when were deposed in the cold darkness of sarcophagi.

He put the sack on the ground, and one by one pulled out the cylinders, containing their virtuous souls. Their calm was nearly surreal, beating in accord with the breath of their bodies. Ioreon supervened, simultaneously taking the lids off, and with absolutely no plea whatsoever, they floated tranquil and climbed up to the mouth of the cylinders, waiting now in front of their respective host what it had to be done.

"Here we are at the pivotal moment,” Ioreon said, as he positioned himself behind the fluctuating souls. “It may get tiresome, so tellest me when thou art ready."

"After what we have been through I should not be so? Speak freely."

"Fain to, but first some preliminaries. Comest here, next to me.”

So did Asgore, his racing pulse in trepidation now more than ever.

“Well then, our effort taketh place through the process of _Ligatura_ , a means us’d by a supernatural entity to bind itself to a foreign body. Thereagainst, we must reunite a soul to its own physical container, and as such things get more complicated.

“For the peculiar virtues of souls, fill’d with physicality as much as spirituality, ‘tis necessary that our influences intertwine thanks to magic, so that the two domains find synchrony and consolidate. Hence, thou conductest the role certainly most important, providing the afflatus that serveth to open the gates of the body so as to let the souls enter, whilst I provide the ties mending them firmly. ‘Tis clear?"

"More or less."

"Good enough. Imposest thy magic power, tied to the physical world, on the bodies, in a way akin to a beacon or buoy and, once they are link’d with thee, exertest an opening will. Being unconscious, they shan’t offer resistance, and I shall do the rest. ‘Tis surely not complicated for an experienc’d magician as thou art, but trying in front of six humans. It shall be only a matter of a stinging moment, wherefrom thou shalt recover rather quickly.”

Asgore, in response, cracked his own fingers. "Well, if it is so, when do we start? I can’t wait!"

"So be prepar’d and tap thy magical sources. At my signal, release."

Both got into position, their hands ready to cast.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Ioreon interrupted the whole thing. “Whatever may happen to me, during or after each thing thou shalt see and do, dost not panic. If thou feelest not like to sit on thine hands, then grant me a thought. And it shall suffice.”

That was enough to attract Asgore’s attention. “Um, nothing to worry about, I hope.”

“Focus and think about nothing else, what might happen to me is irrelevant. The important thing is the outcome.”

Asgore could only nod unsure to what he said. But indeed he was conscious now that the situation required the utter lack of interest in their own fate, if that alone were enough to ensure their success.

So he widened his legs, and through his clenched hands brought forth his power, outlining form, intensity and purpose in a sphere of living water.

Similarly, Ioreon left by his staff and harnessed his own force, and soon extended his hands in an embrace.

There was like a shiver in the room, followed by a crystal-clear sound that rattled the walls. An azure and lustrous glow ran down Ioreon’s ethereal and swirling fingers, branching off at the tip in the form of evanescent threads that, like the long, thin algae in the sea, swirled lissome in the air.

Hundreds of them headed sinuous to the suspended souls, and with slow caution they made contact. Like needles in experienced hands, creating a sumptuous embroidery, the bundles of coiled threads inserted themselves superficially and formed knots.

"The time hath come, mifriend," he said with a whisper of a voice, to which Asgore gave heed without a murmur, and cast his spell. He leant forward his hands, opening a fan of fluid trails with the appearance of quicksilver, which evaporated in a white mist before them, enshrouding their living bodies.

At the height of their hearts, Asgore concentrated the magic flow, twirling the mist in a billowing vortex that arched inward and opened an invisible gap. Only then Ioreon, with a wave of the hands, released new threads from his fingertips and stretched them toward the humans.

The second that they weaved with the magic mist, the whole room shook, the pillars swung like palm trees, and there was nothing but light. That flash alone determined the reached communion, and it was like a blazing fast and overwhelming sapping of energies, pulling them avidly as the threads, now steadily conjoined with the bodies, created a bridge between the slit and their souls, which brightened with garish color.

They, in the grip of an uproarious exultation, were dragged right into the chests and fitted in like inside sheltered alcoves. Ioreon closed his hands, and the threads sewed inside and outside of the opening, securing the souls in their rediscovered shrines, and then narrowed, winding through creases and hems of magic and flesh, up to seal the physical and spiritual gap in a newborn seam.

There was another and last flash of light, which stripped away in an instant Asgore’s power, making him stop the outflow and fall to the ground, exhausted.

Then, the quake quietened.

He remained on the ground traumatized. The sweat beaded his face and the sight left him blind for a moment, but soon he regained lucidity. He opened wide his eyes to understand where were the roof and the floor, astounded by the heavy gulps of air that pounded inside his eardrums.

Something lifted him in the air and made him sit on the usual wooden bench, where he could lean on the wall his head, which was spinning like a top. It was not until afterwards that he noticed Ioreon, and he even thought he was able to see through him, though opaquely.

"Art thou faring alright?" the spirit said at some point.

“Alright in any way at all,” the King replied, and that disorientation nearly made him laugh. “But do not think about me, what just happened? Did it went well?”

"Why not ask them thyself?"

[Two Steps From Hell - Forever in my Dreams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74vpYxZSUJ8)

It was a bolt out of the blue. Ioreon stepped aside, and this helped his blurred vision to discern better, but he was no longer sure if it was because of him or the cloud of dust that raised to the roof in the meantime.

His hands trembled when the sight of the coffins was still obstructed, but by something else: six pillars with shadowy contours but of varying height, transformed then with a strain in silhouettes with frayed and dangling bandages. They swayed confused, standing hardly on their own two feet, showing emaciated complexions, cracked lips, dry and chapped skin.

But out of their depth under their thick and messy hair, he caught a glimpse of their eyes. Those, that he saw only shut, bound by an apparent death, were revealed in all their dazzling liveliness, disclosing the deepest among oceans, the lushest forests, the gentlest among walnut trunks, the strongest of metals, the sturdiest among mountains and the deepest of fair nights. The lights of theirs glowed oh so iridescent, that even the fiery torches of Ioreon paled in comparison.

His mouth would not let him speak, as he was dazed, stonkered, and ecstatic. His instinct was about to get him on the ground and drag himself, even by crawling, but his legs still did not respond to his calls.

He had not even the time to despair, because he found their radiant smiles just one step away, throwing their arms round his neck and chest. After centuries of sleep it was the first thing they did, embracing the one who slew them whether directly or not, and cared for them until their comeback.

This was the thought that dancing crossed his mind, and it moved him, drowned by their hugs and lilting laughter, until that sudden and overwhelming joy brought its liberating tears to him.

Even Ioreon, under that exterior of adamantine stolidity, could not hold back laughter and applause at the scene. "Marry! ‘Tis obvious that you all are more than happy to see each other in person! But come on Asgore, dost not remain so still, embracest them, they are just waiting for it!"

"That’s easy for you to say! I can’t cry, laugh and hug them at the same time!" he replied, and yet his arms succeeded in the impossible, embracing them all, without exception. And if it is true that laughter is the best medicine, they were gaining a century at least.

“Ahem!” one of the humans cleared his throat, his red-haired head popping out from the rest of the gang. "Okay now, hold on guys! Daddy here hasn’t met us in person, so he’s in need of some presentations!” said that lanky boy, charming the King with the boldness of his chirpy emerald eyes.

They let go of that warm embrace but their gazes still entwined Asgore’s, as they arranged themselves in a semicircle so that he could peer at their every detail, one by one, still unable to curb the euphoria of breathing deeply again, laughing at their own clumsiness in the midst of that crowd of bodies, filling continuously his heart of sensations in their day unhoped-for.

“So, everybody’s here? Great!” the child said, giving the thumbs up. He was just as lively and bursting with energy, healthy and exuberant as his fiery hair, and loud despite his apparent smallness. “The name’s Fion, nice to meet you goatdad!"

“What a young man with an intrepid attitude! You are the one that gave me a jolt at the Evercold Mountains!” Asgore said, playing steal the nose with him. “A little and fearless rascal!”

“I assure you that I am also a good boy!” Fion stuck his tongue out amused. “But I won’t take all your attention, so off we go! This beanpole to my right is the eldest among us, his name is...”

“Jebediah, my name’s Jebediah. At yo’ service, Pa!” the above-said replied to Fion’s hesitation, while looking at him aslant and smirking.

“Oh my boy, you bet! You've been such a wonderful help already, I remember very well when I had quite a trouble in that stinking abyss!” Asgore said while ruffling his hair, getting a wink and an awkward giggle in return.

The lad with a fine physique towered above them even if only slightly, and even though disheveled, his blond hair in a ponytail still shone of glittering gold, accenting his azure stare, firm and quiet, yet beaming confidently. “And y’know Fion, how can you introduce us if you don’t know our names?”

“Who cares, we know each other!” Fion said with firm belief. “More or less. In a roundabout way.”

He was not so convinced anymore.

“Yeah bub, darn tootin'.”

“But that’s okay overall, let me finish! So… there’s our nerd big sister, who’s looking at me weird right now.”

The young girl in question snorted. “You are getting used to the idea of family little brer, huh? My name is Sophie by the way, and it’s nice to meet you in person, Dad!”

Black was her skin, and her frizzy and curly hair cascaded onto her shoulders, making her dazzling smile even whiter. Her dark and inquiring eyes, combined with her voice that flowed deep and warm, gave her a proud bearing like a lioness, but the inherent wise affability in those eyes, likewise the shy wave of her hand, were the mirror of a reserved but passionate mind.

Asgore stroked her peeling cheek, and already memories resurfaced seeing her, but soon after a little girl slipped under Sophie’s arm. "Now it is my turn! _Je m'appelle_ Vérane!" said that carefree little girl with a fancy accent, making then a polite bow to the King, brushing his leg with her long mane of tousled brown hair. Side by side, laughing soundly after that unexpected intrusion, they appeared like coffee and milk.

The faint light almost eased itself down softly on Vérane’s alabaster complexion, fair as to seem itself the snow of early days of spring, surreal and piercing on par with her steely eyes. Slender and graceful like a butterfly, and likewise was her past, lasted only a wing beat. But now she could fly once more, and to get started she gave a noisy kiss on the King’s cheek.

"But c’mon, I was the one introducing you!" Fion interjected, commencing a battle of grimaces with her. However the guy behind him, a burly and pudgy boy, lifted him bodily and stuck him under his arm, tickling him with his free hand.

" _Mamma mia_ Fion, see to catch your breath a little!” he said orotund before warmly shaking hands with Asgore. “I am Franco, the pleasure is all mine! I am that dummy who got caught by surprise in Cair Megiddo!”

“Gosh, do not say so, it is our fault if we scared you!”

“Nah, it’s no big deal, souls remember only through sensations. I even enjoyed it eventually!”

Together with his brother under the arm he gushed with joy, belly-laughing more loudly than the others, and with that single free hand, he gesticulated like it were two. His appearance alone could draw upon himself the ancient strength of an oak trunk, a hue softly reflected by his straight hair and cheery eye, and at the same time the hot-blooded and impulsive force of an active volcano.

“Aha, quite the energetic son! And let me ask, you seem like the type of gourmand that anyone would have around!”

Swinging his hand casually, as if to attract all the perfume in the room on his nose, he said: “Put me in the kitchen and you'll see what I can make!”

At that the breaking of ranks turned self-evident. Hence, one small child was still missing. Asgore felt movement on his right arm, and there he saw her.

The most silent, shy and petite, until now hidden behind Sophie’s leg, but with a last spark of courage climbed on the bench, surprising him like a cherry blossom blooming among leafy branches of trees. Immediately he put her on his lap, holding her hands gently with his open palm, gigantic in comparison. “And what do we have here? Howdy little one!”

"Hi, um... I am Yukiko."

She adorably hawed, as she suddenly found herself at the center of attention. Yet, there was something mystical about her, in the intense ebony of her bobbed hair contrasting with the roundness of her face, in her smile a little bottled up with her mouth but glaring thanks to those iridescent gems behind her almond eyelids. Eyes dark only in the distance, and when near appearing striated like clear velvet between sclera and pupil, as hypnotic as sweet. She was small, and yet she seemed to have understood more than everyone else the value of patience.

“Yeah, I like you a lot already!” Asgore said, making her smile and feel at ease, and then pulling all of them to himself in a big hug again. "Golly. I'll have to learn all these new names!"

"Yup, you'll have plenty of time when we are all home!” – Fion winked at him – “And you’ll come too, don’t forget!"

Everything that he had not thought of. “Home? Oh... that’s right.”

The thought of a newer new home. His mood changed instantly, and a fatigue no longer physical took hold of him, mixed with anxiety and insecurity, shaking his very words.

“Are you really sure you want me to stay with you? You call me Dad but, in short, I was not a great example as a father…"

This made him remember what he saw in Waterfall. The hesitation of the soul of perseverance, almost afraid of him when he tried to approach her, and those vivid visions of the soul of integrity. He paused on Vérane, who showed him the kind of fate that has befallen her, a taste of what the others have differently suffered.

He wanted to cuddle them both, but his hands refused to move further, horrified by themselves.

“I... I'm terribly sorry and regretful, sorry for everything you had to endure. It is so surprising that, although you never saw your tormentor before, you just decided to forgive him, in a way so warm on top of that.”

Their long faces said more than a thousand words, looking at each other confused when that joy turned into gaunt awareness.

"But Dad, it's all over now," said Vérane, biting her lip when Asgore looked away after her words. But again he looked into her eyes, seeing reflected only his own failure.

“Now I know even more clearly, and I thank you, Vérane, for showing me. If you're angry with me, I understand completely.”

She just hugged him, beaming and sniffing. " _Sacrebleu_ Daddy, I didn’t mean to scare you! The experience was fatal, it delved deep, but if you were able to hear my tearless crying, _alors_ it’s clear, you are a person empathetic and good! Really you are a dear father, if you felt alike the sorrow of your children!”

That little girl trampled the giant like a river in flood, breaking through his chains. "Are you serious?"

" _Bien sûr_!"

“Let me get this straight, how can we ever hate Santa Claus?" Fion interrupted them, in an attempt to ease the tension.

"Yeah. Sho ‘nuff you had yo’ reasons, and we understand. Besides, you’re our honorary father, yup!” Jebediah gave a pat on his back. “Even we as humans ain’t been a great example, for having locked all y’all up down here. We learned so many things in the Underground, and we know for a fact that injustice wasn’t one-sided, and dang it you were unjustly forced to do it!”

“And keep you here forever! Oh, and even if you are indeed here and alive, when I think of your poor families, who have not seen you come back home...”

“Well, legends say that those who climb the mountain never return, so the only ones to blame are us. And since we already know it's been a coon’s age, we’ve come to terms with the fact that we won’t see any more of our families, not to mention that some of us were already orphans to begin with."

He pointed his finger as a kind of honest rebuke. “I know it's difficult, but I also reckon we can and must overcome everything. So, in the words of my uncle, if you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'. Nkay Pa?”

Asgore sighed loudly. "Alright then, let’s not talk about it anymore. Neither is it fair to just spoil our merriment!" There he closed the speech with a hand-clapping. “And, by the way... how do you know each other so well? Don’t tell me that you could communicate even as souls!"

Sophie interlaced her fingers. “Technically, we couldn’t communicate in words, though we shared our feelings, just like talking. We can’t remember clearly, because souls don’t retain memory, but our sensations remained, both the past ones and the current ones. So yeah, we weren’t deaf, and we even felt your love quite well!" she said in a cheerful voice.

“And what I told thee, Asgore?”

Ioreon seemed to have eclipsed himself until then, watching silent and with folded hands on the abdomen, only to be resurrected in his old, established majesty.

"You!" Asgore said, and all their attention fell back into the spirit. The children had to make room for him as he drew nigh Ioreon with such decisiveness that even he was surprised by it.

"You... Ah, if it were not for you! What a wonder you did to me!" Boisterous, he hugged him too to make up for having left him alone, in the midst of the newfound poignancy of the humans, almost sorry that he was staying out of the picture.

"Well, gramercy mifriend! Rather, what if ‘twere not for thee! If these children were not so inamor’d, at this time their souls would had simply fled, even more seeing one such as me! Then congratulate thyself for ‘tis deserv’d, am I right scions?"

"Yeah!" they shouted in unison.

Asgore wiped his last shed tear. “Darlings, now I am so agog to take you out of here! We spent so much time behind these walls!”

“Verily, but ere the sun layeth the throne room, where I have some other things to discuss with thee. You eat something while we are at it, and be patient for what I besought. Asgore, I prithee.”

“Are you kidding me?! This is the least I can do, you are the lead my friend! What’s one more hour?”

Ioreon tittered satisfied, sure to make a real treat for them, and then decided to entertain himself with Fion’s neck by tickling it too, seeing that he could not stay still even for a second.

* * *

So, as with all journeys, theirs ended up where it started.

The doors of the Throne Room were still open, welcoming the humans with a show that they were never able to see with their eyes before, yet feelings resurfaced strongly. Immersed in form of souls amidst the aroma of flowers and tea, mindful of the sound of Asgore’s voice, which never left them alone, not even for a moment. The golden petals shone in the atypical glow that prevailed in the Underground, so similar to sunlight. And among them, lost in the sea of his peers, stood out one in particular, with at his side a containment cylinder.

"I was wondering when you would come!" he blurted it out annoyed.

Apart from the surprise of finding Flowey here, Asgore could not help but notice the red human soul inside the cylinder. “What? What are you doing with that soul in there?!”

“Golly, I knew it’d be a bad idea,” Flowey said, cringing as Asgore moved determined to take it away from his leaves, but Ioreon barred his road with the staff.

“Ioreon, what’s the meaning of this? You said she was free at last!”

“She is in very sooth, and ‘tis her choice to be here. But fear not, for she shall leave us anon.”

So he said, and silence fell upon them. Then the spirit turned to the talking flower. "Thou finally came. Methought thou wouldst have preferr’d the solitude of the Ruins."

"After your fair share of messes what else could I do?!” Flowey snapped at him. “In any case Chara has much more convincing arguments than yours!”

“I shan’t argue one iota of it, mifriend.”

Flowey shook his head. “You're still the same. Oh and anyhow, howdy all! I am Flowey, Flowey the flower!" he said evasively tilting the head to the side, so as not to appear rude in front of the humans.

Fion did not seem so glad to see him. "Yeah, we know who you are!"

Flowey gaped when the child started to run up to him, and raised the leaves on his face to shield himself against anything was coming.

The human poked him playfully with a finger. "You silly goose."

"Oh man, you scared him!" Franco said coming after him, still out of breath for the stairway climbing.

"Hey, I didn’t mean anything bad. He’s used us for his ends, but in the end it all worked out for the best."

And Flowey gave to himself a resounding leaf slap on his face.

"What's up?" Fion said, turning his head slowly toward the others. The somewhat disappointed expression of Asgore jumped to his eye the most. "Oops."

"Is it true what I just heard, Flowey? So maybe there is something sinister going on behind my back."

" _Mizzica_ , sounds like this will end badly." Franco spread his hands in resignation.

“This is enough,” Ioreon called again for silence. “Be taken not by hasty impulses, keep calm and collected.”

The spirit then rose, and hovered over to Flowey while the two boys gave him way, Franco giving a disgruntled look on the distraught Fion.

"Hail Flowey. I am sorry for what happen’d."

"No, just no,” Flowey said, his head hung down. “It’s natural, sooner or later I’d have told that myself anyway. Not really a great start, huh?"

"Worry not, there is nothing presaging the worst."

"So you say. But, heh, I take this opportunity…” – Flowey smiled timidly – “To say thank you. I thought about what you said, I reasoned about it. It’s worth it, even Chara cut me some slack. True, I cannot feel anything, but others can, and I want to settle my guilt with everyone, even if I won’t understand it fully."

He would have seemed creepy, with his eyes now wide and empty, but his voice remained shaky and broken. "Maybe I’ll learn to understand it, more or less. So, I'm ready to go but… always keep an eye on me. You never know."

“If that is what thee want, it shall be granted. And ‘twas just what I wanted to hearken from thee," replied the spirit, who turned to Asgore motioning him to come closer.

“I wonder what else you have in mind this time,” Asgore said, pushing gently the humans aside without delay and joining the two, walking among the flowers. Flowey dared not raise his head.

"Away with resentment now,” – Ioreon said to both – “I need you two fraught with vitality and understanding."

With a quick gesture he removed the lid, and Chara’s soul floated free again, yet it acted like it was waiting for something.

“The parts are here, to make them whole anew. I have the strength for one last marvel.”

[Terzo Tema di Ilùvatar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vO0ViDuUEfc)

For the curious convergence of those facts, one more amazing than the other, the two listened with bated breath to what he had to say.

"Lo! We are here due to an extraordinary eventuality, the combination of such improbabilities that shall cement the end of this rousing venture. This seal is nam’d by humans ‘Symphony of Creation’, and there is no other name most fitting than this.

"Every idea floweth fleeting on my eyes, but some remaineth so strongly impress’d that turneth unforgettable. Then why, if there is something I learn’d in many years, is the nature you are made up. Any questions I promise to answer, but first allow me: I have a design to concretize, but its implementation shall depend on you. Would you like to be part of it?”

Asgore dithered, because he did not know that name, and the omen that accompanied it. Nevertheless, he thumped his chest with his fist closed. "For the lives we saved thanks to you, of course you can count on me!"

"Remarkable. Whereas thou Flowey, hast some hesitation or concern? Or thou wantest to proceed forthwith?"

"I don’t understand anything,” – his face was at a loss – “You make me do all this way and then you blandish me with weasel words?"

"This is my way to let thee out of the Underground. It shall be a wondrous gift due to thy good will, simulacrum of memories and Determination."

Flowey expressed his resignation, with a loud sigh.

"Flowey, listen to me,” Asgore spurred him. “I trust him, as well as six humans that we all believed dead and that are here watching us now. You were not there to see what happened, but it was mesmerizing. And even if I felt an unbearable fatigue like days of forced march, I will not desist now that he has seemingly another miracle in store, even more so for you."

"Forsooth, worry not Asgore, ‘tis not necessary to spend thyself in a so heartfelt peroration, but many thanks!” Ioreon interrupted him with one of his most intense looks. “But ’tis indeed his choice. Heed what I say, and decide with even more knowledge.

“Asgore, thou shalt once again provide the bridge betwixt my influence and the material plane, and this time thou shalt cede even more, but not enough to prevent thee staying awake and alert. About thee Flowey, knowest that this such step is conclusive. Thou shalt have the delicate role of the transferee: all thy memories and Determination shall be extracted, and that old recipient of thine shall lose all consciousness."

"Wait wait wait, you're telling me..."

"I told I shall get thee hereout, and certainly not in a flowerpot! Behold!"

Ioreon rained down a beam of light that illuminated the soul of Chara. It let standing out, beneath its crimson red, a white heart of pure fairness, with the tip pointing upwards, inside of it. It was dim, weakened, but still persisted in pulsing.

Hush was blowing in the mouths of the onlookers, and among them all, was Flowey. His sight opened wide at what he was seeing, before turning it to Ioreon who declaimed imperiously.

"Flowey, I exhort thee! Body, mind and soul are the individual, three elements in a totality! We, the Hierophant, say unto thee, essence of a monster and human Determination on a flower, thou, hybrid union of coexisting disparate components, more than unique and minimum in front of no one, that hath led thee here, be grateful! Art thou willing to recreate the life of the one who gave such essence and let thee experience new awareness in this vessel of thine? Art thou willing to infuse thy past and Determination and make him whole again? If thou givest not consent, this Symphony of Creation shan’t come to pass!"

His petals trembled. The contours of his face followed the tense grimace of surprise and even helpless rage, with such fervor that he released pollen himself. And then shouted, eyes closed shut, with as much voice he had: "A hundred, a thousand times a real body with a soul! To heal this emptiness I never succeeded to fill!"

Asgore was so shocked that had yet to realize the full scope of what was happening, although an incredible thought assailed him.

“So be it! Asgore, weave thy magic with mine!” Ioreon recalled him to attention, because now as then, words are followed by actions. The King without a flinch outstretched his hands, and poured out energy in his rediscovered majesty.

A silvery stream of magic flowed rushing from his hands towards the spirit, but he was not overwhelmed. He harnessed it with his own, golden like the sun, and steered the fruit of that union in front of him.

The two energies swirled over one another, mingling and becoming indistinguishable. Ioreon compacted them in an amorphous conglomerate, swiveling like the Earth with its tides, on whose surface the thread-like golden influence molded characters of an unknown language. At times they were lit, ringing with the sound of rain and strings in the wind, of shaking ground and timpani, of trumpets of the deep and booming organs. Soon the Symphony arose with a maestoso tempo, its force transforming into a powerful voice.

The spirit shaped the conglomerate like an artisan with clay in his hands, giving it new forms, which extended and deepened with the music, forming folds and shapeless reliefs that tended to explode against the molding will of Ioreon, but they were bent by him unrelentingly.

This could only try the both of them, who even at this stage suffered the progressive depletion of their reserves. Asgore’s legs buckled several times, but he insisted, still stretching his arms.

Ioreon’s staff dissolved on its own, but he extended one hand to Flowey regardless.

The Golden Flower stood petrified, when he saw the pulse of light on his stem and his petals, and his face. He unaware projected a sparkling stream towards the developing body, and those three flows fused together entirely within the mass. The last thing he saw was a red swirling wake. Then he was no more.

Ioreon now took on the role of the conductor of an opera, wherefrom emerged slender hands and webbed feet. A drop on top outlined a neck, and then a long snout and long ears. The red trail spread more and more, and like needles it penetrated everywhere, running fast and undulating in the folds of body and limbs and head. The myriad of sparks crept into the latter, giving birth to a flash of lightning.

He thus directed the last act, turning his palm on the soul of Chara, beating like madly in love, while the white soul came unstuck from it. He immediately entwined it with his own afflatus made of newborn gold threads, and with his widespread fingers guided it. The soul rotated and revolutionized around the body of the new vessel until it reached the chest, whereon the spirit impressed with fire, pushing the soul inside where it vanished.

He withdrew his hands. Asgore once again suffered the tearing of his magic flow, and slumped to the ground breathing impetuously, but with open eyes. Lying down he saw one last, triumphant flare, but he could not see the newly born falling down.

Ioreon rushed there in time, catching him in his arms.

He appeared just like a naked little bundle, covered only by his fur. White and soft like snow, scented of wheat fields, fresh plains, and Golden Flowers. He opened his eyes, squinting at the light that annoyingly stung them, finding relief only under the shadow of the spirit’s hood.

"I…” a faint whisper emerged from his parted lips. “I know your eyes. You’re Ioreon."

"Welcome back, my dearly belov'd Asriel."

[Undertale - His Theme Music Box](https://youtu.be/B3hGNQu-Fp8?t=3s)

He heard his own name. And with it a sound strange and foreign that alarmed him at first, but then filled him with wonderment: his beating heart. He could feel again, and felt pain for his lungs filling with air, warmth and comfort within the arms that held him, remorse for all things past and gratitude for the future ones that awaited him. Every feeling exploded as a whole.

He put his plump hands on his face, exploring every part of his former visage. All the tears, gathered in centuries, welled up in an instant, in one hushed crying.

Ioreon arrayed him in his usual warm clothes with crippling effort, and sought his father. His dim eyes misted everything that he remotely could see, but he still found him, and went there, chanting with peremptory slowness at his every step.

"The humans took a son away from thee… It shan’t ever be possible for them to atone for centuries of suffering… but acceptest this as a gift of good will on their part… In their souls there is good, and I hope to have shown it with a last act…"

The strength to utter was spent, but in spite of everything, he eagerly laid down Asriel on the shining breastplate of Asgore, supine and catatonic on the flowerbed.

For the second time the vertigo threw his head in disarray and his eyes watered due to the effort. A slight tingling crawled on all fours across the metal plate, pressing on his chest. He breathed even more deeply, but the puffs came back, slamming into something that now was brushing his snout, like a wad of cotton wool.

He fluttered wildly his eyelids, and every beat unveiled to his eyes more and more details, up to meet his. A black pupil surrounded by a brown iris, with strokes of amber and shading outside in an emerald green. An eye so clear, where he lost himself always, from the morn embrace to the goodnight kiss.

He saw him, Asriel, crying and laughing at the same time, a sound akin to him like water in the desert, felicity after centuries of torment, echo of his every lived delight. Asgore pinched his own wrists and snoot, but that vision did not disappear. He suddenly wept, together with his son, and like spring breeze that blows away the weathered winter to unfold the intense light of day, he burst out laughing, and laughing enfolded his son.

"This is a miracle,” – he said, caressing his wet cheek – “My miracle, made manifest."

“Daddy, you don’t know how much I wished your hugs!”

“And this time I won’t let go. I won’t let go.”

So they remained, heedless of time passing. Yet Asgore found that something was amiss. He noticed that the humans, aware of what it meant to regain one’s lost son, wept quietly, some with dignified composure, others with utmost emotion.

His paternal instinct was overflowing for all those children that he felt like his. He just dried off his tears and motioned them to come closer. "Come, come here to see your brother!" he urged them heartily.

Cheerful they came with a leap, drawing close to Asriel and welcoming him to life, protecting him under a dome of bandaged bodies ready to withstand the worst disasters, certain at last that every nightmare was over. All anxiety and agitation seemed to subside, and serenity hovered with its golden pollen.

They loosen the grip and the distances, so that they could see each other clearly, study one another, because it was clear that they were all brothers and sisters in there. At a stroke, everything the little Prince had desired and onetime lost, became his own.

Chara’s soul, now freed of its purpose, lingered for long to watch them. Afterwards it withdrew, circling one more time around Ioreon, who played with it with his hands by now vanished, only to escape almost dancing in the air like a dragonfly, to get past the remnants of the Barrier. Ioreon himself had just two flamelets to see, yet they flickered like bonfires in ancient days of celebration, and with that thought they expired, with a last liberating breath.

* * *

After another strong hug, Asriel detached from his father, remaining in his arms. Confusedly he tried to make order in his re-acquired emotions, his soul still traumatized for all those centuries of sweet captivity within his sister’s soul.

“Asriel? Why the long face?” Asgore said hoarsely before emitting a cough.

Asriel did not feel like to look in his father's eyes. “Don’t strain yourself Daddy, you've just done so much for me.”

“Don’t worry, I just want to know. I can see in your eyes that there’s something troubling you.”

The little goat brooded long for the things to say and how to say, even more so now that he had all eyes on him. “Well… I haven’t been very honest with you. I did horrible things when I was a flower.”

“But, my sweet cinnamon roll…”

“I never met these humans, but I used their souls to subvert the nature of the Underground. And you can’t know this, because you can’t remember it, but it was thanks to them and to Frisk if the Barrier was destroyed.”

"And it was also thanks to you Asriel!" Sophie said, rubbing the fur on his head.

“Yeah, but it was all the souls of the Underground and yours that made me understand, it was Frisk to awaken what I thought I had forgotten.”

He beamed happily. "That is why I want to make up for it! I've taken everything away from you, while you have given me everything back! If it were not for Chara my soul would be lost forever, and thanks to Dad and Ioreon I am…" He turned around to thank in person the author of the Symphony.

“… back… again…”

Reality gave them an abrupt awakening.

He, and everyone else, greeted with a punch in the stomach the ethereal and evanescent torn robe of the spirit, fallen to the ground.

Vérane on instinct put her hands in the mouth, stifling a gasp. The boys, astonished, ran there and lifted it. It grew thinner, soon to disappear in their hands.

“What in tarnation is happenin’?! He was behind us all the time, y’all have seen him, right?!”

Asriel felt like he was shattered again. “It can’t be…”

He slipped away toward the crumbling dust from the hands of Jebediah, only to stumble and fell to the soft ground, not yet accustomed to move on his own feet. He refrained from crying with all his might, but it refused to stay inside. Sophie and Yukiko soon and without thinking held tight Asriel, glancing questioningly the others, who looked at each other dismayed in search of answers.

“Where is the author of my boundless happiness?” Asgore said deathly calm, raising to his full height.

Although his voice was firm, a tremor snaked between his vocal cords. He looked around, but he could not see him.

"Ioreon! Where are you?!" he called.

"IOREON!" he shouted.

But nobody came.

Worry came back, knocking on the door of his soul.

A furious battle raged inside him, which he feared to lose against a forlorn sadness. He felt beholden to the spirit, but he regretted having to leave them. Yet his step faltered nonetheless, as he turned his head in every direction, hoping to see his blazing unconcealable beacons in the shadows of the hall, or his staff, or even another shred of his floating garment.

But he still saw nothing.

"IOREON! Answer me, say something!"

He staggered aimlessly, hoping to hear the gust of his whirling essence, but he too stumbled, unable to stand up for that second loss of magical energy. A cloud of petals arose, his hands clutching the dirt beneath. "Tell me it's just one of your jokes, please..."

He restlessly continued to cast a glance around the room, eyes sore and bloodshot.

Until he felt, like a stranger thought in his mind.

_Whatever may happen to me, during or after each thing thou shalt see and do, dost not panic._

It caught him so off guard, that he did not notice the hands that immediately rushed to him and helped him out, supporting his shoulders.

“My sons, I…” a strong cough rasped his throat before he could say anything else, spewing droplets of magical fluid.

He wiped his mouth and together with them, he pulled himself to the center of the room. The throne called him to sit again on it, grateful to lean his head on the back and ease himself. He could not surrender to panic yet, not now that he had people to protect and cheer up like in the past.

He softened seeing his children, the fear in their eyes of losing their father too after so much effort.

He picked up Yukiko and Asriel, who pretty much had clung to his leg, as he was so sorry, and he brought the others closer, who almost clung to him for the concern.

"Ioreon is fine,” – he said – “I cannot say it for sure but I feel, I feel that it isn’t over for him.”

He laid softly his head on the two children on his lap. “He freaked us out, eh? But he’s strong, and will find a way.”

He smiled again, turning his own worry into honey that soothes bitterness. “Did you see how many beautiful things have happened? Yet, when there’s so much overflow of the heart… It can pull tricks. Surely you’re fed up with it but, how about a nice fairy tale to help sleep?”

The children said nothing, just smiling back at him.

Asriel felt relief, a feeling of delicious taste just then. He snuggled up to his father, while his siblings made themselves comfortable so to listen the narrating Asgore, about a frog and a dame, a miller’s daughter and an imp, a queen and her garden of roses, letting the soft notes of a rhyme accompany the doors of the eyes, breathing after centuries of stories, the fragrance of Golden Flowers.

Before even his eyelids could give way to the fatigue of accumulated days, walking ceaselessly through this Kingdom shrouded in mystery, worn out because of two magical depletions one after the other, a thought occurred to him. And he granted it to him.

_If thou feelest not like to sit on thine hands, then grant me a thought._

_And it shall suffice._

 

Asriel – New Home, 203x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy dear readers!  
> Looking back at what I wrote in the last chapter, if you think I overdid it, please accept my apologies if that caused some unease.  
> It was not the right time to say it, but since we are here, what better occasion to let our favorite flower take action? Yeah, I also wanted to get him out of the Underground, it would break my heart leaving him alone.  
> Maybe someone will turn up their nose, but alas I had to make a choice. We can have only one of two things, either the flower or goat bro (you know, ontological system and stuff). Anyway, since goat bro was “tired of being a flower”, well, here he is!  
> Yeah, I am one of those who want him alive. This will let me use “SAVE the World” too, one of my favorite music tracks in the game (if not THE ONE), though I will reserve it for later (much later). In fact, they will need all the help possible.  
> I was… quite exaggerated with that, am I? But to create something so complex from nowhere, waving a magic wand is just too cheap for me. This way you can acknowledge me as a fan of Tolkien too.  
> Now then, did I left someone behind? Well, I suppose it’s just Ioreon.  
> He has probably risen to the dangerous levels of a Mary Sue. I know, he seems OP at first glance, but power always comes at a price. In the next chapter, many whys shall be revealed (yeah, it’s about time).  
> Let me put a hint here in the meantime: he is the ‘Yore’ that carries ‘on’. Get it?  
> ;-)


	11. XI – The Hierophant

A tender beam of light seeped through his eyelids. The ears barely stirred, and although they did not perceive the chirping of birds that used to wake him, he greeted with a smile the snoring concert, which carried out perfectly the role. The best of all was still his father's breath, pounding like a gust on his swaying fur, not letting go during his deep sleep.

It was not a dream.

He rubbed his eyes, chuckling at his long ears that wound up between them and his nose, that tirelessly opened its nostrils, the most trivial thing and yet for him the most sensational.

With his newfound, clear view he first of all wanted to be sure of the truth of his father's words, inspecting his snout, his siblings sleeping peacefully, and the rest of the ever-lightened room.

"I remember’d well that thou wert a light sleeper."

Ioreon anticipated him in good time. He was sitting, head bowed, right on the edge of the flowerbed, lingering with his hands on the petals ahead of him.

"You're back!" Asriel exclaimed in surprise, but pretty soon put his hands over his mouth so as not to disturb their snoring. According to his intentions, he wanted to talk with him alone.

He slunk off from the knees of his father and paced, this time more naturally, up to the spirit, with one tear-drop in the corner of the eye, flushed and smiling. “I'm so glad you're okay! I feared the worst!”

The spirit wiped his cheek, hot air was blowing from his opaque hand. “Thou thought I was gone for good? I feel merry-go-sorry then, Asriel, I meant not to worry you all a moment ago.”

“As soon as I saw your clothes fall off and fade, I didn’t even know what to think. But here you are, with your usual nonchalance and spreading your cheer far and wide!” Asriel said with a slight hint of irony, but his eyes did not cease to shine the light of said cheer.

“For I would rather die than purposefully eschew thy surprise. Didst thou like it?"

"If I liked it?! This is the greatest, awesomest gift ever! Not even in my wildest dreams! Even though I had given up hope, it hasn’t left me.” And thus, he could not resist anymore and indulged himself in a hug he deemed deserved.

"My dear, hope indeed never ceaseth to surprise. Years and years of memories, and a soul still that of a child, pure, full of wonder and curiosity. Thou art verily a lucky lad."

Asriel’s expression could not be more genuinely joyful, enough to form dimples on the corners of the mouth. Yet it did not last long, looking away pensive, almost nostalgic, at the Golden Flowers around him.

Ioreon glimpsed what seemed a bitter smile. "Hmm, mindful of thy past fate?"

"Yeah… I can’t believe it’s real that I am here, in the flesh. Even though I behaved like a complete idiot when I was Flowey, no one has ever stopped believing in me. If it were just for that, really I have to call myself lucky, but…”

His breathing became grave, heavy. Ioreon stared watchful, drew by one of Asriel’s sighs.

“I think of Chara. I never managed to go beyond her sad and melancholic look, I couldn’t glimpse what was going on in her head. She shook me when she laughed off Daddy sickness, but I know for sure that she loved him. She wanted us all free, out of the Underground, but it’s beyond me her eagerness to attack humans once outside. I thought in that moment she was only ever consumed by hatred, and instead she preserved my soul for all these centuries.”

Asriel held back. Then he sat down, smelling the scent in the air, even though it seemed rather a sniff after a collected weeping. “Maybe we were just too naive, me more than anybody else for not having really understood her. But if I alone had the privilege to take back my life, why she had to be the one to lose everything? I just wish she were with us now, give her my apologies for being so blind, for having not stop her from poisoning herself. Because she deserved this happiness, more than me…"

“Thou posest most complicated questions, my boy,” Ioreon interrupted him. Asriel was surprised to see his flames in the abyss flickering.

“I am the last of those worthy to speak, unknown as I am. Yet, I have not seen evil whatsoever. Knowest thou that thy soul hath suffer’d a strong degradation?"

“Yes, I do,” – he clenched his hand on his chest – “I can feel it. I thought my soul was gone, and now at times I feel as though it is about to dissolve.”

“Fear not, for it shan’t dissolve indeed. It would have been a useless sacrifice on Chara’s part otherwise.”

For Asriel was like being hit by the same invigorating light that the spirit saved for him at Old Home.

“Chara’s sisterly love for thee and thy success on overwhelming her instincts, foster’d the conjunction of your souls even after death. She never stopp’d loving thee Asriel, thou art here because of her.”

“Chara…” Asriel said, enchanted by the thought of his adopted sister.

“If thou hadst not made that decision, that is following Chara’s intentions, we would have had no need to draw in magnificence the Symphony of Creation. And I might not even be here, in this form.

“Yet in mine heart, methinks she decided for that plan for a good purpose, however rash and manic. If she really wisht to kill all humanity, and could take control of thy body at will, why not doing it immediately? Why content herself with placing her own body on a flowerbed in the middle of a village, and react only after an aggression?

“Incomprehension helpeth in protecting oneself, but ‘tis oft a plea of unnecessary evil. And with a damaging yet inculpable misunderstanding, for the hasty alacrity the villagers had, they reconfirm’d her vision of humans as abject, vile and irredeemable. But they are much better than that, and she herself prov’d it to thee. She well might have been the Angel of Prophecy, albeit six deaths for six souls outside the Barrier, would have deem’d those six lives unrecoverable.”

“How can you tell this?” Asriel, although Ioreon’s words were somehow refreshing, could not help but be suspicious of too many things that he was hinting. But his flames were aflame enough to trill, as if glad to be caught in the act.

“Now that I feel less bound to my words, for much of my self-imposed mandate hath been concluded, hark this: in one fleeting moment, I read into her intentions, and I saw them again upon your return.”

“That is, you were able to understand her better than me, even when her soul was inside me?” Asriel replied almost horrified by that.

“I found myself in a behov'd position, remember?”

The Prince sat still and confounded, but his lips widened in a timid smile after those funny absurdities.

Ioreon went on. “The perseverance in that deep love orchestrated the coincidences occur’d amidst their virtual impossibility. And now, fortified by the same human Determination that hath animated thee in a Golden Flower, thou shalt experience the power to regenerate one’s own soul. Albeit damag’d by its struggle against dissolution, the wounds shall heal, the divides shall be rebuilt, and thus shall return intact as before, likewise the partially extracted Determination from thy siblings. Thou shalt see the truth in my words when thy newfound completeness shall mark the incipient ageing of thy parents.”

Asriel’s smile widened further, but that unmovable monition of her death remained. “None of this will happen to her.”

He lost his own gaze into space, pollen incessantly soaring on his snout. “Her love was our own ruin and my salvation. Those ashes and dust were the last fragment of her, and no one and nothing will bring her back. Am I right?”

He uttered that last sentence in a faint voice, grief-stricken, a grim realization that he had no way to assimilate with his sleeping soul. But he hid it, still behind his smile. “I’m sorry Ioreon. Emotions are coming all at once, maybe I should stop for a moment and readjust myself to this new reality.”

“’Tis not a sin to seek answers. I shall try in my inadequacy to console thee, albeit a speech may remain a mere balm.”

Asriel ran his hand behind his head. “You don’t ever get tired of talking, huh?”

“I have to say now words that might have been better spent at that time, alas!” Ioreon stated, and ruffled his fur.

Then he turned serious again. “In the light of aforesaid, there is no power in the universe that can bring back living matter. Not even the Symphony of Creation, a spell already flaw’d in its conception. Erst, elation was smother’d, and mourning bred a hundredfold. Yet, 'twas understood then how truthfully death itself is full of life.”

This was enough to goad on the Prince, while the whole was reduced in an engrossed silence, perceived in all its might that silenced any extraneous noise.

“Mourning is that unspoken desire to not let go those who are no more. Mourning is not recognizing that someone thou hast lov’d hath gone away. ‘Tis not accepting an absence, as ‘tis love that also endeth, mayhap on one side only. Things that, in certain fragile souls, can derange, averse by time’s fell hand, oft leading to hurt, whether ‘tis got or made.”

“I… can relate…” Asriel said, looking at the past, but Ioreon recalled him to the present with a waft from the hand.

“This is not an accusation, lad. Why then thou shouldst not be alone at times like these? Indeed, ‘tis false to say that she hath left a huge void. For those who have lov’d... in those who are alone with absence, there is no void. Death oft is so cumbersome in certain lives, leaving no room for anything else. Who is gone is more present than before, so imminent, unprecedented, tragic, and carveth as ever on conscience, choices, and the very perception of one’s own life. In ways one would never have done whilst they were alive.

“The dead we lov’d, oft against aught, against reason and etiquette, without world’s acknowledgment and sacrament, anyone we lov’d and bygone… They fill all, tragically. And it cometh to mythologize this impending absence, as far as render it the unique presence possible, the only way to feel life. Up to make it myth, and sweet sob. Thus absence becometh presence.

“Hereby we want not to let go off certain loves, which are gone, but remain. And then, o’er time and paradoxically, such a myth shall become a fair and most bitter, an almost perverse, thou wouldst say, consolation. That verily pusheth us to forge onward, even for those who have fallen.”

“Wow, those… are nice words, Ioreon. I wouldn’t ever thought that…” Asriel stopped there in utter surprise, so as not to appear rude. He cleared his throat. “I will make my own these words, really.”

Eventually, Ioreon clasped Asriel’s hands with his own, unusually warm despite being ethereal. “Therefore, remember her for what she was for thee and for all of you. The least action bringeth unimaginable changes, and what you have accomplisht, for better or for worse, hath brought us this far, so thou hast to pay her tribute properly. Be sure to visit her sometimes at her Mausoleum, for albeit the dead cannot speak, they can listen.”

The spirit caught him off guard, but he nodded unhesitating. “I’ll do it.”

“Well! And blame not thyself for being alive, for thou hast serv’d aplenty and liv’d alone more than enough. ‘Tis right to receive a just reward after all, in fact…"

He stood and floated aback, stopping just in front of a flower that stood out against the others, like a trunk against twigs.

“… Even being a simple flower, thou hadst seen enough, more than any other. Dost not forget."

The Prince had a thrill of surprise. It did not take him long to recognize that flower, when he got closer.

He felt a knot in his stomach. “Forget? How can I forget all my suffering because of it? I felt so alone, so scared. The very thought that I did all that evil so lightly out of boredom makes me sick…”

His gaze became menacing. He raised his paw, but stopped when he saw Ioreon bending over it, and the ground beneath the flower rising up, enclosing it in a layer of earth and then stone in the shape of a vase. So he offered him the odd flowerpot, containing what once was Flowey.

“When thou shalt go, take this with thee, albeit ‘tis a past that thou wouldst like to leave behind. Pourest not hatred on this flower, a life without emotions yet still a life that hath led thee here, now, before me. For ‘tis precisely the means that extolleth the end achiev’d.

“An ordeal entaileth a choice, which entaileth a sacrifice, which entaileth awareness of what thou shalt earn and what thou shalt lose. Choosing selflessness o’er selfishness, that frame of mind hath rais’d thee above thine insensitivity. ‘Tis why thou came. ‘Tis the way to mature truly… Oh.”

Asriel had a face so deadpan that Ioreon could not help but chuckle. “Got it. In other words, throwest the past not away, for thou always learn something from it.”

“Okay, I’ll take Flowey then!” He grinned, while his anger evaporated in an instant.

Ioreon tousled again the fur on his head. “Thou turn’d out to be a little rapscallion, hmm?”

“You betcha!” he stated, winking and sticking out his tongue.

Now, proud of himself, he went hopping in the midst of the flowers, carrying the flowerpot as a trophy. The spirit left him twiddling the flowers around him, and leant on the windowsill of the Throne Room. A sudden cool breeze rose up from the crevasse, the tall towers of the Underground shining white. Sometimes he glanced at the sleepers, blissfully sprawled and without the slightest intention of waking up.

Asriel did the same, even if in a decidedly more euphoric way. “I've never seen Dad so happy, he’s smiling even now! And I can’t wait to see Mom’s face when she’ll see us coming out of nowhere!”

“Forsooth. And forget not Frisk, there with her.”

“That’s right!” Their eyes met, now as then. “This time I’ll hug them first!”

“Marry, she is quite dear to thee, is’t not so?”

“Of course! I... wait. They are a she?”

“Indeed she is.”

“Oh my gosh!”

Yet another emotional shock, a red embarrassment that, from his chubby cheeks, came up to the nose. “Am I just finding out only now that my best friends are girls?! I mean… that’s not a problem of course but, er…”

He took a deep breath, under the amused gaze of the spirit that never grew tired of watching his reactions. “Apparently I didn’t know them so well.”

“Naturally, thou wert too young yet, and these things call for time. But you lot did not talk very much, I ween.”

“Well, Chara was very reluctant to talk about herself. Frisk, let’s just not talk about it. Still… how do you know?”

“If I were to tell thee the why, thou wouldst likely not believe it. But let us wait for them to awake, for I shall reveal everything about me. They too deserve to know.”

Asriel shrugged it off. “Gotcha, I can wait.”

And while crushing the dirt with his fingers in the pot, studying every part with childish curiosity, the mother of all questions made its way, questions to which every child wants to find an answer. It occurred with yet another glance, attracted by the now perturbed snoring of Asgore.

“It must have been hard for Mom and Dad.”

“I find a fairly lot of glee mix’d with sadness in thy words since thou art back among us, Asriel,” Ioreon said looking for his eyes, however devoted only to Flowey and Asgore.

“That’s because I feel these things only now, just by thinking about it. Finding balance is… complicated, just like in my family, broken within few days, where immediately each of them were with their own poison to swallow every day, each hoping to find their own way and moorings, while sparring with madness and heart-rending grief. I wish everything will be as before, that at least Mom would forgive Dad and live happily all together. Just so, the two of them will be able to find peace.”

He noticed then the hand of the spirit on his shoulder, sitting at his side as if he had been there all the time, his head bowed until it reached his. “Always with that destitute smile of thine.”

“Oh c’mon Ioreon!”

The spirit giggled. “I trow that the foundations of forgiveness were there already, and could only turn in his favor after this wondrous event. I am confident that one day they shall reconcile indeed, for love is blind but seeth afar, and even passeth through the eye of a needle.”

Asriel snorted and laughed in turn. “Say you are looking for an excuse to play the poet!”

“But it maketh sense what I have just said?”

“Obviously, because it was said by a poet!”

“I take it as an approval with attach’d compliment,” Ioreon concluded, or nearly so. “And then, coming back to all of you, I am certain that naught shall be as before.”

“What?! But you said...”

“As it ought to be, naught is ever the same, for it can only get worse, or better. Just as I say anything shan’t be as before, likewise it shall be certainly different, and perchance even more delightsome.”

The sweetness in Asriel’s eyes was priceless, even to the impassible Ioreon. “It struck thee, aye?”

"Thanks. For everything," Asriel said, endearing and disarming, and this was enough to alienate every scar dug by unhappiness.

"Anyway! Changing the subject,” – Asriel said interrupting with a click his engrossment – “Do you have some hobbies? Let's see if they fit with mine!”

“Good question. I am afraid I do not have any.”

Asriel gaped, and felt down.

“Howbeit! I say I find gardening quite entertaining and creative. Mayhap, once hereout I might create a nice garden, hidden in a forest, like one of those enchanted glades of myth.”

“Woah! You can give me some advice then! Not to mention that dad definitely likes it, definitely!” He gave him an amused look, then it gleamed as struck by a realization. “Oh, right! Now that I think about it, if you are good at it as you are with magic, it will turn to be monumental! You must let me see when it will be ready!”

“I shall for sure, but first thou hast to find it…” Mysteriousness seeped from Ioreon’s eyes.

Asriel crossed his arms sulking with a showy pout, receiving as only answer a comfortable scratch on the ear.

“Always teasing me, arent’cha?”

“What that meaneth? I cannot have some fun with thee, little rascal?” Ioreon said and, deft, reached his neck with the fingers.

Asriel jumped when he felt his hand tickling under the jaw. “No, no, wait!”

“Aye, aye, thou art ticklish here.” Ioreon assailed him making him laugh, like it or not. “Hard to forget something like this.”

“That’s not fair!” Asriel managed to say, trying to hold back laughter. “It doesn’t work with you!”

Ioreon pressed on and tickled his sides. “I could not think of anything more to make thee laugh.”

“Enough! Stop!”

Asriel managed to escape at the last, still laughing anyway. “You won this! But you haven’t seen the last of me!”

“My, I hope not to face the fearsome God of Hyperdeath!” Ioreon said, receiving as a response a raspberry. “Now I wonder what kind of Determination us’d Doctor Alphys on that Flower.”

The spirit got up to catch him, while Asriel was running around the room squealing, and if the scene of a floating sheet in pursuit of a little slip of a thing was not enough already, the resulting hustle and bustle pricked the ears of the drowsy.

"What is all this noise?” Asgore yawned, fresh and sound. “Was it you, Asriel?”

"I’sooth! It took ages to wake thee up!” Ioreon said, nabbing Asriel in the thick of it. “We were running out of subjects for conversation, mifriend."

“Hey! Put me down!” Asriel protested, wriggling and laughing his head off.

“Gosh, look at you!” The King had a brief chortle. “You gave me a bit of a fright there, you old rogue, and you're already getting busy with Asriel!”

“I believe that, for thy plump son breaketh my dignity with just a look. Now then!” – he released the Prince from his grip – “Go play with thy siblings now.”

“Yeah!” Asriel cried out, and after retaking possession of the flowerpot ran towards his dozing brothers and sisters. “Mark my words! I’ll find a way to make you pay for this!”

“And I shall wait in trepidation, merry foe!” Ioreon said vociferous, and let him go prancing.

Meanwhile Asgore, seeing him coming boldly, let out another powerful laugh that awoke some of the humans well before they could fall into his clutches.

“Hey! Whose are these fuzzy hands?” Jebediah said, surprising Asriel and wrestling him mercilessly. “Aha! Ya won’t get away lil’ bub!”

“Oh no Dad! You made me lose the element of surprise!”

"Golly, I just missed your energy little guy!" Asgore said obvious and orotund, as he rose from his throne with little Yukiko in his hands, yawning satisfied. After stretching herself well, he placed her on the ground so that, without thinking twice, could go to Asriel’s rescue, holding on to the shoulders of Jebediah, who had to yield against the repeated assaults from no less than two fronts.

“Tarnation! They are comin’ outta the walls!” he could say on his knees thanks to the little sister.

Fion meanwhile, clicked his tongue and rubbed his eyes groggily. “What’s this fuss all about?”

“Fion! Help me!” Jebediah said desperately, fallen to the ground after too much tickling.

“A fight!” Fion sprung at attention. “There’s no better way to kill the boredom! Here I come!”

“ _Ahia carusi_! Watch your steps! I’m right behind you!” Franco’s belly found itself in the path of their stamping.

“Sorry bro, didn’t see you!” Fion said as he sought a window where to insert himself. “But, why are you still on the ground... Oh nope.”

He held his sides. The remaining two sisters were cuddled up like cats next to a heat source, having their back to Franco’s shoulders. “I have my problems already, as you see… I can’t move.”

He cleared his throat embarrassed. “Girls? It’s time to get up!”

“ _Oui oui mon frere_.”

“Just a little more…”

“Oh, these sleepyhead!” he said exasperated, forced into the position of an embalmed. "As though I didn’t got used to sleep like a mummy! Move aside a little bit more at least!”

Asgore was enjoying the scene in the rear. "They are just the adorable kids! With siblings like them, you will never get bored Asriel!"

Then he noticed Ioreon. Still standing at a safe distance, returned to his poise and observing everything with great captivation. He wanted to call him and make him part of it, but in the end he decided otherwise, by going himself to him.

“Come on Ioreon, there is no need to stand on the sidelines,” he said, with a vein of melancholy.

"Ah, my apologies Asgore," he replied, as if he too awoke from a dream. "I was just thinking.”

Asgore walked beside him, watching the whole scene at his side, so close yet so far away. “This is what feels like when you vanish?”

“And cannot draw nigh?” he said, and waited for his true self at the gates of his own heart. “Aye.”

“But now you are here.”

The lightness of his voice was enough to astound the spirit, and his bright smile shook him at the same time. The ages of the world on his shoulders seemed to lose all their weight, and while not forgetting his sin, he was freed. In this fashion the flames of Ioreon saw him, now trembling before him for that fateful moment that was approaching imminent.

"Verily, and hereby thou hast my many thanks for the thought, evoking the defining idea of mine. Thine was the beacon that lighten'd the path my being could travel.”

The King looked at him intrigued. “Really? Then that means you are...”

“An idea. An idea of Hyperuranion, like its every inhabitant, wherefore incapable of dying, for they grew eternal when conceiv’d. And if I had not inherited the means to feed magic with the thoughts of those who think about me, I would fare the worse of fates, banishment from the material plane, unable to cross its boundaries.”

“Well, gosh. For a moment I really thought you died for the effort."

“In a way, for I depleted utterly my presence, and thus I vanisht. It would have taken months to let me manifest again. But thou seest how a single, lovable thought of a friend can do, so I can say that thou carest about me.”

"Golly, of course I care about you!” he stated wholeheartedly, pushing his shoulder amicably. “Do not ever think otherwise! By dint of staying with you, sooner or later one gets attached to your sullenness!”

“Thus I rejoice for what thou saidst, and whilst I cry thy mercy for having fray’d so much thy strength.”

“Ah! Mind you, these old bones have still a life to sell dearly, do not think you will get rid of me that easily!"

"Tut-tut, tempt not fate mifriend, I might have something more in store for thee!" Ioreon replied, and he did not have time to say more that Asgore just flung his arm round his neck, guffawing.

The humans and Asriel, for that matter, were completely unaware of what was happening around, exhausted by games and laughter, some sitting on the ground, some slumped on the throne.

"Boy oh boy! What a night's sleep! Seems like a century passed!" Fion waved his arms far and wide, only to receive an energetic pat on the back by a snickering Jebediah.

"What a saphead! Ya slept for even two of ‘em! Ya reckon that you still wear yo’ burial bandages?"

"Oh man, you’re right! And… Ugh, they just stink already!”

“It’s no wonder!” Franco held his nose. “I can smell it from here!”

“Maybe you’re just smelling yours, bro!”

“And this makes me think that we'll have to make over the whole wardrobe,” Sophie said, again preoccupied with Asriel’s fur despite his protests, so as to lure even Vérane, making a further attempt on his self-respect.

“ _C'est magnifique_! I cannot wait to dress fresh and neat clothes! These unsightly bandages are killing me!”

“Uh huh!” uttered Yukiko timidly.

“Hey look who’s there!” Fion noticed the two great absentees. “Oi there Ioreon, I didn't doubt you for a second!"

With euphoric surprise they welcomed the silent and reclusive guest, greeting him warmly and shouting with joy, even whistling noisily. “Bless yo’ heart pardner! Ya pretty caused a ruckus here!”

They all started to get up and go meet him, but Ioreon stopped them. “I salute you all in turn, children, but discommode not yourselves, not yet. I have to say just the last things to your father, so fret not: ere long we shall come out, when the dawn batheth the entryway of the mountain.”

Asgore witnessed that crowd subduing neatly with their consent and thumbs raised. “There is something you need to tell me? You do not look like relaxed as your usual,” he said, taking him aside.

“There are indeed two things to say,” Ioreon replied, in a voice like the sigh of the wind. “I harbor for them all the good at my disposal, infinite like the Hyperuranion, and even beyond. Therefore I beseech thee, provide for them, Asgore, and especially for Asriel. The Symphony of Creation is but a spark on the pyre of life, and thus you must foster and nourish his love with yours, for indeed his soul is most fragile at the present time.”

Asgore winced. “Oh Gosh, do not make me worry right now.”

“But I must tell, so his soul might be mended. The Symphony is an awful spell, whereat the user loseth his life as it draweth directly to the innermost recesses of the soul, Determination to wit, until abolisht. A concept disastrous, wherein bodies could not be shap’d, and Determination flow’d not into the dead, and so to the deceas’d the caster was added. Whilst ineffective on humans, down to their tiniest components and meagre water, leading to many lives unnecessarily lost, anent monsters made of magic the attempt would have been worthwhile, made possible due to their pliancy.

“Thus reason said we would have fail’d, but my heart hearken’d not. I decided to give my all to the very last drop because, at least, I have the means to restore myself, whilst for beings like you it taketh as much time as affection to consolidate your form.”

“But… there will be no negative repercussions, isn’t it?” Asgore asked, wanting to be optimistic.

“Nay, naught of the sort! As long as he shall receive in equal measure the love that was denied. I know thou wouldst have done it without me telling thee, but thou hadst to know. The soul is what is most precious for the living, the keystone of the whole Symphony, and it must be nurtur’d by any means, lest it breaketh asunder. Thou knowest better than me.”

Asgore shuddered no more, nor did he relent. "It will be okay. They will grow up healthy and strong, and Asriel will be the most handsome of monsters. I will not fail them again."

"Nay Asgore. Thou hast never fail’d…"

And that really worried the King. Behind what might seem like one of many polite sentences, he felt hidden in it a gasp of agony, a desperate plea for help.

“Your sight is wavering, I can tell. And I hear... some disturbance in your voice. If I did not know you for its monotony, really there must be something wrong.”

“This is the second thing I have to tell thee, and that they eke need to hark.”

“Ioreon?” Asgore grasped his shoulders, hoping to cheer him with his good nature. “Why are you like this? The steadfastness that has inspired us, where is it now?”

“It trembleth, for the moment I have for long delay’d, is here. Gradually I reveal’d the veil of secrecy to thee, and its implications are a heavy burden, perchance heavier than Ebott itself.”

Gently he departed from Asgore, and positioned himself at the center of the room. “Come now, children, ‘tis the time. The dawn awaiteth outside.”

Unsuspecting, they rose up with a lively and cheerful buzz, taking the little ones by the hand. Sadly they stood shaken when they looked to Ioreon, become in an instant listless and physically greying, while the light of the Underground dimmed.

<https://play.spotify.com/album/527IcFU7CsvI0w7gLIwJM2> (select “10 – Yearning Hope by Sam Dillard”)

Ioreon’s surreal breath rang weakly, vibrating like the wind calling a storm.

“We spent this time together. My presence certainly seem’d short, but indeed it lasted for centuries.”

The turn of events filled them with consternation, and made them voiceless, soon to be reached by their father so he could look right into that abyss, deeper than it already was.

“Aye, years have pass’d since you were imprison’d hereinto. I expected thy return in the Underground, Asgore, setting in motion all the events that led to consciousness anew the six humans and Asriel, while I kept thee in the dark about my motives and everything I knew. For that I deserve the reputation of manipulator.”

A sound of squeezed wood rebounded, his staff dissolving at their sight, silencing any symbol of his power. He bent his head, weighed down by the invisible and impossible breadth of that world, as the whole room clouded as if participating in his words.

“Yet who would dare move, if he doth not know perfectly what he is doing? I cannot but grieve for such behavior notwithstanding, and to all of you I extend my deepest and mortified apologies."

"Ioreon, please do not say so –" Asgore left his children and took his hands “– Listen. I owe you everything. Just as mysteriously you arrived, mysterious is the limit reached by your power. But even more mysterious are the depths of your heart. I do not care what you have done, because your intentions were the architects of an incommensurable good."

“I wonder if thou wouldst say so, my old friend, if thou knew, ah if thou knew!” he said, trembling along with his words, like a twig shaken under the battering Mistral.

“You monsters are just like this, slow to unsheathe the sword and ready to forgive with hand stretch’d. But ‘tis necessary to heed everything I have to say. Thereat, thou wouldst just hated me,” he whispered apathetic, and removed his hands.

"Why do you behave like this Ioreon? The promises you made have been granted, you quelled all my doubts just for that. What's wrong with you?”

“I spoke only of consequences, Asgore. For the Barrier hath its own laws, unknown apart from its makers, constraint of every soul, where even the fate of their hosts would have to be bound. Lo! Thence I am the source of all thy bereavement. I spar’d you not a single suffering, for I am the one that started them, first and last cause of all your misfortune.”

Asgore recoiled appalled. “What... what are you saying?” 

“I came into being when monsters were penn’d in the bowels of this mountain. A small Hyperuranion by myself, enclosing a small universe, beyond which naught of you, not even your thoughts, ideas, dreams and hopes, could escape. I corrall’d them and inhal’d your dust, and as a parasite I fed on them.”

The children themselves jumped, uncertain at his words, and a strange inkling, a familiar emotion with the sour taste of the past, showed itself clearly. As a traumatic memory.

“Thus I learn’d of everything happen’d hither, thus I learn’d to know each of you, and I saw the secrets you conceal’d from the gaze of others, yet remaining clear in my view. I relisht every conflict and every great adventure, tenderness and regret, death and life. My eyes contemplated the outcome of every possible timeline, my ears perceiv’d all o’er the world.”

Slow and peremptory, the gushing words became the death rattle of a dying man.

“We spent this long journey heretofore, Asgore, together with everyone else, but thou hast not known me. I watch’d, silent, thine every story. And behind every agony, there I watch’d motionless, unable to cry out in thine ears that the sins thou considerest thine, are deservedly mine.”

Asgore put his hand to his mouth, at a loss for words, in disbelief at what he was hearing.

“Because of me, Asriel and Chara lied dead. For my sake, thou hadst to take away life from these little ones. And for wicked duty, you have liv’d imprison’d, thenceforth and forevermore. Such was my bequest.”

The cape fluttered. Asgore moved with firm step towards the cause of calamity.

“My skin, was the mountain. My flesh, the mind of magicians. And my soul, your very hopes and dreams. For I am…” In a last, stifled murmur, the spirit adumbrated in his tragic existence.

But the King interrupted him, extending his arms, and grasping Ioreon’s arms, once more.

And his tormented smile was enough to brighten everything.

“You are the Barrier.”

The shivers ceased, instantly.

“I am. And I lov’d you all for what you represent, and I hated my omnipotence and impotence altogether. Only after I could counter my stillness, make amends for what was inflicted upon you, albeit never enough to retrieve the sweet years of life, so unjustly stolen.”

What used to be his torches, became like the tenuous line that stretches in the morning mist.

“At last, I can see how close thou art to forgive thyself. How I wish I could say the same for me.”

"Enough is enough," Asgore said, holding back his tears, stirring those dying stars in a brighter nova.

"What you said to me, isn’t it true also for you? Chosen for a task, then realizing how heavy was that burden. Circumstances have forced us against our will, even more to you than me. I would not have hated you even then. Do not feel constrained only in function of your past you said, no one is without fault but any can be cleansed. Now I tell you the same, and know that as for me, you amply repaid me."

And like every nova, the stars faded, but not completely. Two white dwarfs, tenuous glimmers of a broken spirit, found the strength to shine, and looked into his eyes.

He put his hands on Asgore’s elbows, and the room welled up with new light.

"I am further away from feeling any emotions or sentiment the way you understand them. I comprehend them not, devoid as I am of a soul like yours. But I never lied, and I lie not when I say that I taste them regardless, at their highest, amiable and whole significance, as if their concepts are admix’d into mine in ways imponderable, yet without owning them. Thus, I have suffer’d your fate, and the pain was excruciating. Now my own turmoil quieten’d, and to thee I am grateful."

"So you were the Barrier," Asriel interrupted them, through clenched teeth, and that was heard so clear that the two had to part, and the spirit to face his former victim.

"Aye, and still I am. And to this fact there is no remedy, my belov’d Asriel."

“Who cares!" Asriel ran with glistening eyes, clawing his robe and surrounding him with his arms. "It doesn’t matter. You are Ioreon now. As I was Flowey. In one way or another we are all bonded by something, we have to carry on without any sadness. Don’t go anywhere, please…"

His tender innocence was another pang, and snatched a feeble giggle from Ioreon, who knelt, and girded him with his mantle, the golden fabric flickering on it. "I shan’t go away, scion of Kings."

Then came Fion, slipping under his cloaked arms alongside the little brother. “I promised myself not to cry!” he said, blubbing anyway. And then came Vérane and Yukiko, and Franco, and Sophie, and Jebediah, slipping in between the elbow room, leaning on his head, resting their hands on him in unison.

"What has been, has been," said Franco, and dispelled bleakness with a laughter, to which were added all the others, limpid and silvery, whitening the robes of the repentant gaoler. At that, Sophie tilted her head to admire the flames turning blazing, keeping a thoughtful but glad look. "That's why I didn’t feel foreign your presence. We saw it first-hand.”

“Forsooth,” the spirit said, and stood again leaving their embrace. “I felt yours, twofold: when you fell, when you annihilated me. I still sense your sighs on mine hands when you were hurl’d against me. The form of Asriel and Chara are still etch’d in my mind when they cross’d the threshold and return’d. And I felt how sweet Frisk’s Determination was, when alone, and together with all souls, in that sole, wrenching caress, that split me open. You are dear to me like children of mine.”

Vérane dried her tears with the wrist. “But… there was no need to feel sorry that way!”

“Yeah old fella, never look a gift horse in the mouth!” Jebediah stated, cheering him with closed fist.  “This’d be so hard to believe, if I ain’t touchin’ it! The Barrier hearin’ everything it’s just the topnotch of spells!”

“You’re darn amazing, you know?!” Fion gave voice to the others, whose emotions choked words in their throat.

“Ah, the enthusiasm of youth!” Ioreon applauded them as he returned to his normalcy. “However absurd, it hath occur’d. My first death anointed the transition from materiality to immateriality, and I, the twice-born, witness’d the astral transcending soil, the spirit transcending flesh. The Barrier, then a paradox flatten’d by two conforming timelines, became only figment of impossibility, an unconcretis'd concept, worthy only as a mere idea in the Hyperuranion, there where is power to do that which is will’d.”

"And so you were born," concluded Sophie.

"Verily, for the human souls who conceiv’d me fled farther, but their minds were left whereby are no atoms and instants. They wove together with experiences, memories and magic of whosoever I held in the vise, and from this amalgam of abstractions I arose in a single chord, from potency to act in less than a moment.

“Through magic, mine unique privilege in a world of abstractness, I molded the tangible form that you see. This is why it paineth me to part with it, for ‘tis all the thoughts you are still evoking, written in every fiber of my fabric. Even now they are nurturing the concept of the Barrier, albeit they consist mostly of hatred and contempt toward that which I once was.”

At that, even Asgore bit his tongue, but Ioreon gave him a loud pat on the back. “You eight in particular were able to soothe the deluge of justified resentment, so consider yourselves special mifriends! For indeed and lastly, the memory of seven wizards and a legion of monsters thus blended in one voice, supervening upon my silence. And in sooth…” – he winked – “Now you know why I am so talkative.”

“And grandiloquent!” Asriel said, making a funny face and chuckling to himself.

“I’ faith! And thou shalt agree with me that words are stones!”

Asgore snorted. "Well, now that explains everything!"

That room, a time filled with tears, echoed once more with their jovial laughter, as the worthy conclusion to those places, which began in endearment, proceeded through heartache, and bade them farewell with jubilation.

Because now all together, Ioreon at the head and motioning them to follow, no longer with sadness resting on their hearts, went away from the Throne Room, where the warm light still shone on the golden carpet of flowers.

* * *

[Undertale - Once Upon A Time (Orchestral Cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=poU6FMG9D4s)

“Here we came, to my vetust seat. The corridor seemeth not so long now.”

The glimmering reflection that reigned there was in fact long gone. The sturdy, smooth rock walls formed a tunnel perfect in its curvature, leading down to the only light present, at its bottom, where laid what the children’s hearts most coveted.

The dawning world.

“It’s beautiful,” said Asriel, unmindful of the unhappy past memory of that journey beyond the Barrier.

Fion put his arm around his neck, sniffing loudly at the air coming through. "You said it bro!"

“Who knows how things have changed since we arrived here!” Sophie said, hearth pounding, as she glanced on her beaming siblings, eager for whatever surprise that rising sun set aside for them.

“ _Je dis_ , there's only one way to find out!” Vérane said self-confident, sparking their excitement with just her daring and wound up gaze, and then her graceful flight towards the exit.

Franco went in the pursuit, picking up the shrieking with laughter Yukiko by the tummy and riding the wind. "You’ll not be the first to enjoy the show!"

A “Yee-haw!” at the mouth of Jebediah let loose a stampede, where everyone shouted in mad zest for life, inebriated by the gusts messing the hair, the stone beneath their bare feet, the tempestuous breath escaping from their nostrils and entering again, together with new aromas and fragrances.

Asgore let them run wild, catching sight of their bliss at the edge of the plateau, enraptured by what loomed before them, knowing well that same feeling when he saw it, first time after centuries.

Maybe that's why he dithered to savor it again.

With relief he realized how no strange light filled the room this time. Just the dawn, that was shining on Ioreon’s garment.

On that rediscovered splendor, he paused his own thoughts.

“The time of our parting is nigh,” the spirit said though.

“What?” the King asked, overwhelmed with bitter surprise. “Why? You don’t want to come? I thought...”

“Asgore, ‘tis not a final farewell,” Ioreon reassured him with even more blazing fires. “There are still many concerns left that I have to attend to. And on the other hand, ‘tis not wise to reveal myself suddenly, for these things take time. As ‘twas needed between me and thee.”

Yet the King, unknowingly, would not listen to reason. He never felt so tied to the Barrier, uncertain however on which side of it his mind referred to.

“Art thou afraid?”

He felt the grip of Ioreon’s hand on his armored shoulder, stronger and tauter than any other time.

Asgore smiled sad. “Well, yes. A lot.”

“And what, pray tell, maketh thee think so?”

He expected that question. “Perhaps… my own concerns, that will still disturb my sleep. What is waiting out there, I can feel it, will be ruthless and unforgiving. I realize that my job is not finished at all.”

“Forsooth, and shan’t be easy. The nature of everything evolveth, but it never strayeth from its foundations.”

“We gave credit to certainties that have proven themselves lies, and new ones will not cease once outside. But I will never regret our prison, now that I am sure to have it by my side.”

“Gramercy, Asgore. And well thou glimpsest that thy duty is not concluded, and thou shan’t have the luxury of resting on thy laurels, but now thou hast much stronger and brighter reasons to collapse not.”

“Yet my task became so heavy, I would love to wield it no more,” he replied, meeting his eyes. “I am just tired of confronting the violent character of humans.”

Ioreon stared him insistently. “Thou wert right in part to blame humans who perpetrated such violent gamble. Nevertheless fear, mifriend, fear is terrible: pusheth to shy away or attack what one cannot fully understand. So ‘tis for all who have this feeling.

“Therefore, because of one, thou canst not hate all, and because of many, thou canst not only regret thyself. I know that in thine heart thou fearest humans not, and despisest them not. With shrewd attention and intelligent thoughtfulness, thou shalt compose rapports of brotherhood with them, for the good of thy people, who thereupon shall ensure their help, for indeed they have never forgotten thee.”

Asgore bit his lip, and neutrally nodded to his words.

"And speaking of this," he said then. “It is my people to feed your magic, due to their thoughts, am I correct?”

“Verily.”

“Then I cannot help but think about what you said. Your magic must be a very heavy burden to bear. I will make sure that these memories of hatred will turn into love, Ioreon. I will do my best.”

“Nay mifriend, thou must not. It would be denying what happen’d. This scar shall be hard to erase, and the Barrier shall endure in legends, inasmuch monsters and humans shall remember it, even just sneering at the very thought of it. I ought to be the one to take such burden and conquer appreciation for what I am now, and thus mitigate detestation. Pray, be patient.”

The King scratched his head. “Then I don’t really know how to repay you. What will become of you, if that’s your decision?”

“Marry! Ask not for similar worries. I have yet to make up this mind of mine, but I shan’t stay here forever. I say therefore, see thee anon, mifriend. I shall come meet thee, mayhap in some remote meadow. Now, by thy leave, allowest me to accompany thee for another tract, beyond the threshold.”

Asgore agreed silently, and gave him way, but Ioreon stubbornly refused, indicating clearly that he wanted to walk side by side. Resigned, giggling, the King let him.

His footsteps rang down the hallway, each of them dripping entire eras, flowing faster through the pacing paws, as the sun gradually grew.

A question just slipped out of his mouth. “Do you think the actions of my past will stop haunting me?”

“That is not for me to say,” Ioreon told him, with a voice inexplicably warmer. “I cannot forget my past, and it shall be mine incentive. Thou saw in fact how everything can be pick’d up where thou left it.”

He sighed. “Who knows? Perhaps it is as you say.”

His mouth was struggling yet to unfold, his gaze still low, almost not wanting that outside light creeping into his pupils. “There are things that are so far back, they are so difficult to recover, and maybe better to leave behind.”

The spirit was just as tenacious against his obstinacy. “Keep that in mind as a sad page in thy story, whereon every time thou restest thy sight, thou shalt have something to ponder about, and even cry, yet there are so many other pages that await thy quill, and thou wouldst not that sadness filleth them!”

Asgore let out yet another giggle. "Well, at the very least this is reassuring!"

Soon they ended up again on the fateful narrow upland, joining the children looking at everything, cheering even over banalities, which seemed to be filled with wonder.

Asriel was the only one looking back, awaiting them.

Asgore took his shoulders and encouraged him to look forward, always forward, where the sun rose bright, the waves lapped at a sandy beach, the trees swayed in the breeze, and the city lighted up festively in the glow of fireworks.

It was spring, his first spring outside.

The two giants stood behind them, like two watchful stone guardians next to their protected. Again with his staff, Ioreon opened his palm and extended it forward, inviting the world to welcome these new sons and daughters.

"This journey is finally o’er, even for you. Another aw’d one awaiteth, beyond the door, lo! For we are not bound evermore to what resideth within the boundaries of the Barrier, whereout there is more than memories. Now go, free at last of your prison, towards your new home.”

They turned towards him excited, and noticed the flames' pale glimmer. “Little children, here our company disbandeth. Such time hath to be only yours, but be not sad. Know that I shan’t delay my return. ‘Tis a promise I intend to keep, I eke wish to enjoy the journey of your life.”

So, apart from just a few tears and many more hugs, after he held tight Asriel, they heartily said goodbye to him. Already the sunrays radiated stalwart when with a good pace they began to descend along the side of Ebott.

Only Asgore hung back, just for a moment blinded by said rays.

“I do think that we part company, my friend. Still remains one thing to do, to close this matter. She waited alone for too long.”

"Henceforth be the husband and father that for those sad choices thou couldst never have been. Be guide for thy children and monsters too in a thriving world, still hiding secrets and threats, as much for men as for yourselves."

Neither a grimace nor a sigh crossed the King's demeanor. “Golly, an arduous life looms in the distance, not so different from the previous one. And I am not even certain to hold my own against it. But in truth, happiness is still a conquest.”

"And!" Ioreon interjected again. He stared into his eyes, and gave him a light beat of staff on the forehead. “I urge thee to look back not. Walkest towards the future, for I shan’t let thee go thither the other way round.”

They exchanged smiles, one with his mouth, one with his eyes.

“I promise I will try, Ioreon. I trust your judgment,” he said, and held him in a last goodbye embrace. “Thank you for everything, jailer and companion of a lifetime. I hope with all my heart to see you again.”

“Fare thee well mifriend, and be happy,” Ioreon added serenely. And when the King went away descending the rocky path, longing for the grassland wetted of dew, he heard the spirit behind him, crying out his parting words.

“May by fate we meet again!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “He that is thy friend indeed,  
> He will help thee in thy need:  
> If thou sorrow, he will weep;  
> If thou wake, he cannot sleep:  
> Thus of every grief in heart  
> He with thee doth bear a part.  
> These are certain signs to know  
> Faithful friend from flattering foe.”
> 
> The Passionate Pilgrim – William Shakespeare
> 
>  
> 
> What is in Undertale, remains in Undertale. Even the Hierophant of the Barrier.  
> What a strange idea came into my head, isn’t it? I hope you liked how I characterized him.  
> In and of itself, it’s not so important to understand the dynamics by which he was born, but this is also a peculiar theoretical exercise. However, I plan to explain better his origins, since it is kind of nebulous when you want to tell it in a story. It would be best to explain it in a separate section.  
> Be seeing you now, for the epilogue looms.  
> ;-)


	12. Epilogue – Bright, Brighter, Yet Brighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy dear readers!  
> I finally did it!  
> Well, I still need time to process in my mind the amount of information.  
> I still wonder how it came out like this, but I love the result.  
> I hope you'll think the same.  
> ;-)

[Overtale OST: 009 - Paradisium](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USTnRR0xrNY)

That day set aside for them a crisp but not cold weather. The horizon disappeared soon after the first hour of walking, brushed at first by the high tops of the green ruff of Ebott and then covered by its large leafy branches like a dome, the trunks of towering conifers its holding columns, deeply-rooted along the steep declivity and reaching out with their lower green arms. They provided convenient handholds when, in addition to walking, extensive use of the hands to advance was required, where once stood the path of monsterkind exile.

The fissure whence they came out, up high on the western face of the Mountain, was made now invisible, its secret hidden in the hearts of those who had lived there.

A roaring cascade, Ebott’s blood gushed from the aquifers of Waterfall, submitted itself cold and biting to their thirst and showed them the way, there where the forest cleared to the passage of the river, now become placid.

There, where the loud rustling of fronds felt like the song of trees, raised from the strings moved by Zephyrus, who went down and spread far in between that bright green, often stroking stagnant bodies of water, rippling them just enough to make lilies dance and reed drum up into their wooden core.

In one pond in particular they wanted to take a break, just to look enchanted, and even blown away, at a herd of roe that drank from the stream, heedless of rustling, their soft footsteps, the chirping of cisalpine sparrows and the brazen call of blackcaps. They stood on alert only at the coming of a verse impressive and brutal, like a bellow, but of higher notes, after which nothing else followed. Silence rang into their ears, so much so even the wind chose to stop, before the bell of the red deer.

Light filtered unbridled through the branches when they set off again, disoriented in the wonder of that jade embrace that had gone beyond what humankind had succeeded in confining, invading the skeletons of largely buried and decayed buildings, crystallized figurants of a cancelled era, the breeze whistling through their cracks. It seemed like it whispered in their ears, bringing with it the music of atmospheric vastness, sometimes beckoned by the low rolling of a distant thunder, surging refracted like a damped wave, wanting to challenge those of the sea.

And the sea hastened at that call, when that thick forest thinned out letting the horizon peer out once more on an open countryside, dotted with olive trees up to its white sandy shores, pouring the bucolic breath of that recently made green again land, regenerated after the winter like a lush lung.

There lied down, like a blanket over a sleeping giant, the sweep of blades of grass, its folds the soft undulation of hills, a lawn refreshed by the night where their feet could sink, a blessing in that day of spring.

A landscape so variant so as to be unsustainable in its pristine beauty, a continuous discovery every time for him, the King of monsters, admitting within himself that it had never been so exciting thanks to all those youngsters in tow, absorbed in silence listening to what nature had to say, and that for long stretches answered to it as well, with chases and songs and sounds of jocosity, combined with the shrill cries of birds in flight, headed to the shining ocean, glorying in being the sun’s mirror.

Asgore was never sated enough of it, just as admiring that cloudless sky, shimmering palette according to its own whims, but that today reserved itself cerulean, free of its tatters of white velvet, deep and terse enough to reveal the veiled and bruised face of the Moon, even though the golden yellow disc was tall and imposing, next to noon.

For him it was incredible to say, but nice to be thought, that the elements themselves shared their ecstatic state, roused by the invisible threads of that philosophical speculation of countless concepts its vassals, absurd, and eternal, and conscious, languorously observant, thankful for being invigorated even by a whisper of theirs.

But nature was not the only thing to surprise them.

The human hand was not long in coming with its offshoots of civilization, appearing gradually and however mingling organically with the plant kingdom. When the ground became flatter, bare and prickling feet tramped the sparse, smooth and narrow roads of gray asphalt, sometimes coming down on the side soil, touching the ears of espartos, disturbing the chirrup of grasshoppers, imperceptible without paying focusing heed.

Just beyond, the ears grew proud in neat, compact lines, shaping the undulating green sea of wheat, where strewn emerged as its stacks strange, powerful spiral mills, revolving in spite of the slight trace of wind. Along the way, when the pangs of hunger came upon them, the awakened chanced on one of these, discovering rather a few low and tapered gleaming white buildings, assembled around that slender rotating pivot. An unusual architecture, as Asgore put it after his first break out, and so the children thought as well seeing it for the first time.

Still, their first, foreign human faces did not seem just as unusual. Just simple peasants, looking out from the cabins of heavy agricultural vehicles watering the soil or from large portholes of that farm of future times, or laborers caught off guard at the open space of hexagonal tiles.

The passage of the neat row of young humans wrapped in worn and smelly bandages, a fluffy pumpkin in trousers and shirt holding a pot with a flower, and an impressive anthropomorphic goat wearing dented armor leading them, was enough to hold their every activity and stop them intrigued and amazed, as if they were returnees of some battle.

The humans had initially some fear in approaching them because of Asgore, remaining vigilant no matter what, but since the children dragged him by strength of arms and having fun with it, they also loosened up and flocked to them, keeping a deferential awe towards the regal-looking monster and an inordinate fondness towards that softy little goat with a flowerpot in hand.

That group grew large, more and more workers attracted by the progressive shutdown of instruments, entertaining them, inquiring them, asking about their past, and without embarrassments giving to all of them any kind of homemade tidbits, whatever liquid or solid, at times totally depriving themselves of their meal whenever they heard their grumbling tummies.

Those others, on the other hand, googled seeing such metal horseless carriages, or lanterns without openings and fires that looked out with their long slender necks, gigantic gliders fluttering and, even more distant, certain expanses of bluish mirrors that blinded them due to sheer reflection.

The world had changed somewhat.

Wishing them good luck, urging them to return safe and sound to their homes, saying goodbye with the best intentions, they departed from those eight refreshed travelers, who continued along the road that branched off over and over again, like the septa of the huge cells of a beehive, where at its center stood out like the heart of the honeycomb, with its beautiful mirrored skyscrapers cleft by the tiny shadows of its aircrafts whirring industrious, the City of Cities.

Yet, that was not their destination. Asgore led them west, to another forest where trees returned to reign, welcomed between the maternal arms of another peak, steady and firm, but that in comparison with Ebott came out intimidated.

The snowy peak of the gentle-sloped great mountain still stood proud, scrupulously observant of its domain. And without a cloud to cover it, it seemed to follow them with its whiter than white eyes, its last residents who felt like its sons and daughters.

Or that’s what the King had to think, looking back many times so as not to lose sight of his own children. He rested on it in turn, their melancholic prison and refuge, against a world that never wanted nor desired them.

He got far too distracted, so much so that Yukiko tugged him to bring him back down to earth. Mulling over it was becoming a habit.

He focused the view elsewhere now that they were back in the company of trees, although the thick of the woods was well away. Yet it was already visible along the pebbly path, beyond a small and old stone bridge over a lazy stream, a village of charming sloping-roofed houses, some newly built, not at all static but rather teeming with activity, chosen as a temporary solution to handle the influx of all those monsters out in the open.

With another tug, he realized only after what the little beaming girl was holding in hand: a lavish bouquet of fragrant wildflowers she gathered along with her sisters, while the guys loafed about in the middle of bushes and brushwood.

"Daisies, primroses, dandelions, chamomile, grape hyacinths... A wonderful composition my child!" he said, accepting the offer delighted and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

And turning his gaze on the smoke coming from a chimney, standing upright on the terracotta shingled roof of a two-story house, kept a bit to the sidelines, he could already smell it, and foretaste its flavor. "I know who will love to receive them."

* * *

[Home (Undertale Re-Reorchestrated)](https://soundcloud.com/tiara-dees/home-undertale-re-reorchestrated)

"Here it is, my dear children, a nice slice of cake just for you!" said Toriel twittering, handing out a generous portion of Cinnamon-Butterscotch Pie, and with it a resounding kiss on the head, to the row of hungry table companions.

Frisk, the little human as sunny as her lemon-colored jumpsuit, looking at the dish contents mouth watering, pounded enthusiastic the cutlery in hand on the table, smiling happily open-mouth.

As ever, her eyes narrowed in anticipation of that test. The prospect of sampling its taste, filled her with Determination.

“Thank you, Queen Toriel! Just what I, the Great Papyrus, needed to round off this very successful day!” Papyrus said with pomp and circumstance all happy as well, soon to scowl at his brother, hoping with all his heart that he would not take any opportunity for one of his usual, unpleasant puns.

Sans passively complied with that rebuking gaze, half-laughing at the smack on his bare forehead. "Yeah, thanks mom."

"You are welcome, dear," she said affectionately. And after making sure that everything was to their liking, and the large forkfuls were a clear sign of it, she went to sit at the head, keeping the elbows on the table and her chin on her interlaced fingers. Their appetite was a sufficient fulfillment and, on the other hand, she was not hungry.

Just to pass the time, as she usually does, she dwelt on the plastered white walls, the solid and shiny chestnut beams of the ceiling, the beige wood parquet, and then the stone fireplace, the walnut shelves of the weighty library, the comfortable sitting area, and the large veranda at the bottom, right in front of her, where one can gaze upon the grove and even the unmistakable wooded flanks of Ebott.

A minimalistic home, basic, almost rustic, warm and welcoming. So similar and yet so different from her old home in the Underground.

She sighed.

Life on the surface was not so bad, and certainly for her was a great liberation compared to the hermit life she self-imposed. She found her role in life, surrounded by human children and monsters alike in her modest classroom. She saw with her own eyes the warm hospitality of the humans, although sometimes she could hear the gnashing of teeth behind certain smiles. And that large house, received as a gift because of her royal lineage, turned out to be a sunny and noisy retreat for everyone, aside from the brand-new Grillby’s of course.

It was all just as she wished, with her beloved daughter Frisk and their loving friends. Different but similar as it once was, when she lived with Asgore.

She sighed again.

Part of that house was also intended for him. But he foursquare renounced to live there.

 _It takes time to make such big steps, he said_ , – so she remembered – _Maybe we will get used to it, and get a space for us here, outside_.

_I am not against you to stay here, but that, coming from you, is bizarre. Why do you say that, if in your heart you would never abandon the Underground?_

She bit her tongue at the very thought of it. Her hands clasped on the table, and kept her head down, deciding to continue staying alone with her thoughts.

Because it was inevitable, a cut so clean and so enduring is difficult to put behind. Past choices lead to facing the harsh reality of their consequences.

But it was her face to morph, manifestly disgruntled by a spontaneous surge that she could not repress whenever they ended up talking about themselves, where inevitably there was precisely mention of those painful choices, concluding with a calm, though stentorian with its weight, discussion.

_You just wound up loving our prison, that's why. Would not be enough to just tell it like it is, so to live happy and safe under Mount Ebott and far from humans and from this world which, by their decision, could not, or rather should not be ours? Why stain with more blood the wood of your throne, even though you know you do not want to kill?_

Yet he preferred to keep all that to himself, and shy away, with the tail between his legs. Losing hours looking out over the sea at night, or the faint sparkle of fireflies or, lately, the snowy peak of Ebott, so dark among the reigning shadows.

And thoughts interspersed themselves in memories.

_Had I been less cold in recent occasions..._

She ended up watching that peak as well, now that the sun made it shine.

She looked away quickly, preferring to glance at somewhere else, maybe the white walls, graced by spring coolness.

White, like the snow of Ebott. Cold, like the snow of Ebott.

A chill ran down her back. Her breathing slowed abruptly.

Suddenly, like a flash, a memory occurred, when she opened the door just to find him ironclad in front of her, the gaunt face and the sunken eyes. "I have to go," were his only words then, only after long breathers of silent, uneasy, defeated look, and stayed no longer, closing himself the door with mild slowness, not detaching his eyes off hers until the last crack. And she just stood paralyzed, without whispering a word.

She studied every detail of that daydream, lingering on those four words. But were those eyes that made an impression, and for almost a month now, they did not get off her head ever since. And since then, she had not heard from him.

_What happened to you? Nostalgia for the old days? Another absurd duty called you to action? You feel like to be out of place?_

Her chair suddenly became uncomfortable.

_What is the point of prolonging this exile? This has gone on long enough, without you._

All past memories resurfaced with violence, thrown together like worn photos one after the other at increasing speed. The two ingraining constants, their children’s death, and her tearful escape with a body wrapped in bandages.

And then his eyes. Shattered like a stone hit by a hammer, moist like wet charcoal chunks.

_The new freedom has become a far more oppressive solution. It even seems it has reversed our roles. In the end, I became the one that banished you from my life. What is worse, I have forced you to it._

And destiny mocked her with its irony, pocking derisively on her head, heavy now, resting in her hands.

_I am the one who is wrecking your life now. But you do not deserve this. Because in the end, you just wanted to be understood, and helped._

So, even more often, looking at that spacious, warm and welcoming home, she found it so desolately gloomy, sad and empty.

And for the third time in a row, she sighed.

"Um, Toriel?"  Sans interjected in her trance.

Toriel fell from the sky. "Er, what?"

Frisk meanwhile stood near her, pouting sad, holding Toriel’s hands and with crumbs all over her pretty little face. This softened Toriel, who chuckling put her on the knees, wiped her face, and held her close to her chest.

"You continue to stare blankly into space and sigh like a locomotive,"  Sans spoke again, arms crossed and resting. "Something’s wrong?"

"No, nothing," she replied naturally.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, yes I am!" she replied again shrilly, but she was never good at lying.

"But are you really, really sure?"

Toriel sighed, fourth time in a day. "No."

“Heh.”  Sans shrugged. "So tell us everything, it's hard to lend a hand if you clam up as a mackerel." 

That got her a smile, but the request made her shrink further. "I was thinking about Asgore."

Frisk winced and tilted her head back, so as to look at her straight in the eye. She said nothing, since she was a human of few words, maybe after some past event, but as she pushed Toriel’s cheeks with her palms, that was enough to make her understand very well that she did not want sad faces, and least of all angry.

“Oh my child!” Toriel let out a giggle and coddled Frisk. "I am worried about him. Remember how he looked like when we saw him that last time? We have not seen him since.”

She gazed wistful at the little girl. "The house breathed so much more when he was back with us."

Frisk opened her mouth exultantly at that, and nodded with conviction, bringing back Toriel in a good mood.

"Admittedly it’s been a while, I haven’t seen him since he stopped to buy some water sausages. Just so I wouldn’t waste a day," Sans said lazily, bringing his hands behind his head and looking interested at the blond lines of the wooden beams. "Maybe he quite simply needed a moment to think."

"Come on Sans! Is it ever possible that nothing can shake you?!" Papyrus tried as usual to spur Sans’ down at the heels dynamism.

"Dunno, I guess that's the why."

"If I knew at least where could be this place of musing." Toriel looked at the cumbersome mountain, but she still not wanted to ponder that possibility. "A month spent reflecting is troubling, especially if he decided to stay alone."

It was then that Papyrus, after listening intently, leaped to his feet and put his hand on his chest. “Queen Toriel, then it is decided! This is most assuredly a job for the great Papyrus! As a Royal Guard, unique of his kind..."

"Yeah, unique and that’s that bro," Sans interrupted him while maneuvering a toothpick in his mouth.

"No big deal! It means I am the best at one’s disposal!" Papyrus was not fazed, not even for a second. "It is my duty to reassure my sovereigns! Therefore, I will go in search of King Asgore myself and bring him here on the spot by any means!"

Sans snorted. Papyrus offered it to him on a silver platter.

"Sans? Do not get any funny ideas!" 

"Bro, I can’t resist." 

"Sans!" 

"Bro..." 

"SANS!!!" 

“You shouldn't catch someone when they’re off guard.” 

Papyrus froze in place with dangling arms and dead fish eyes. "It feels like somebody has just scraped a blackboard."

“But you’re smiling.” 

“AND I STILL HATE IT!” 

Sans tittered. “Just trying to chill out, Paps. Y’know, a cool pun…”

“All right now, cut it out!” 

“C’mon bro, don’t be so on edge about that.” 

"ARGH! This is getting ridiculous!" 

The two hostesses burst into laughter, and if those puns were not enough already, there was Papyrus blue in the face.

He took a deep breath. He sought inner peace. He eventually snapped. "WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT DO NOT FIND IT FUNNY?!" Papyrus wondered aloud incredulous.

But as he recovered his unquenchable grit, ready for a deed worthy of the bravest Royal Guard, what he understood as Sans’ attempts to stop him could no longer undermine his resolve.

"NYEH HEH HEH!" he guffawed heartily, with arms akimbo. "I can hear already the crowd cheering the return of the King, paying me great regard as tribute!" he stated dauntless, even though the only applauses he heard at the moment were that of Frisk. "So, with your permission, now I am going to fulfill my duties!"

"No wait!" Toriel stopped him just in time, before he could jump boldly beyond the table with a leap, still trying to hold in laughter. "I think yours is a great idea! I will go look for him too!"

"Oh," \- Papyrus lost his drive like a puppet stripped of its strings - "I was hoping to cover myself with all the glory of success alone."

But as usual demoralization is not for him, and with heroic motion he put his foot on the table. "Ah! What does it matter?! An intrepid party acting as one monster, come on! Leastwise the chances of success increase significantly! It will be a child’s play!"

“Exactly!” Toriel chuckled again, putting aside any traces of that dulling downheartedness. "Wait for me, I will go get changed into something more comfortable!” she said and, leaving Frisk to their care, went straight away to the staircase on her right, towards the bedroom.

And since Frisk knew how to look after herself, she clutched onto Papyrus’ belt in no time and climbed up on his back, kissing his cheek.

“Aha, Frisk! Even you cannot wait the time of our glorious rescue!”

Sans winked to him. "You really are cool, bro."

"Indeed!” – he said proudly – “But the impossible task of uprooting you from the chair remains!” Papyrus pointed out annoyed. “Come on, lazybones! Not even the fresh air of the surface had been of some use with your sluggishness!"

"Bummer, I just don’t feel like it."

"Sans! Do not be silly and get moving! It takes spirit of cooperation to take a journey! We are on our way except you!"

"That's right, don’t think about me, I’d just be on my way. Or in the way," the squat skeleton said jokingly, putting his legs on the table. And in record time, he fell asleep.

"Sans! Do not make a worse show of yourself!"

"Ronf..." Sans was safely done listening.

"Sans!" Papyrus approached him menacingly.

"Zzz..."

"SANS!!!" Papyrus shouted in his ears.

"Knock, knock."

"NYEH?" He stopped abruptly. "What was that? Is this your doing, Sans?"

"Zzz..."

With a shake, the thin skeleton drag the half-asleep Sans back into reality. "Whoa. Whassup Paps? Said something?"

"I said, was it you?"

"Doing what?"

"Knock, knock," the sound repeated. Clearly the noise was coming from the door and interrupted their banter.

"And to think that it lends itself so well for a gag. Oh welp,” Sans said and shrugged again.

And just to make Papyrus happy, just for the sake of doing the good deed of the day, he stood up, scratched his haunch, and did the honors.

By opening the door.

But he was not prepared for what he was about to find.

Even the unflappable skeleton turned to stone when none other than King Asgore showed up in front of him, covered with his crinkly and torn cape leaving out in the open his dented shoulders armor, which made him look more impressive and seasoned than usual.

"No kidding, speak of the devil and see his horns. Oh, no offense meant,” Sans said nonchalantly, and made a greeting bow. Then he turned to his brother. “See Paps? When I want I can be really efficient."

Papyrus gaped astonished. "SANS! HOW IN THE WORLD DID YOU DO THAT?!"

Meanwhile Frisk became the picture of restless happiness, hoping that inciting Papyrus’ shoulders could speed up their approach to the foster father and switch arms.

Papyrus had first to fix up his jaw for proper clearing of his throat. "Ahem, hail King Asgore! We can say that the endeavor was successful!"

"Even before it could start," Asgore said smiling, but his body stood impassive, not a hint of a movement. "Howdy Frisk! And good afternoon to you, dear friends! I was expecting Toriel to open the door, so I suppose I arrived at a bad time."

"Nah, we were just getting ready to look for ya,” said Sans, and yawned. “You've saved us a pretty full workload."

"How lucky, right Sans?" Papyrus suggested sarcastically as he leant against the doorpost.

“Yup. But please King, come in, feel like you're at your home.”

Asgore stood hesitant. “Well, I…”

“Hold on, it’s your home already.” Rimshot.

That relieved the King’s impasse, causing him to burst into a big laugh. But Sans thought he heard a few whispered chuckles elsewhere. Maybe the audience was wider than expected.

Papyrus was not into it. “SANS! You are not helping!”

“I’m just putting the King at ease.”

“Ah, you succeeded, and I thank you for that!” Asgore intervened cheerful. “But I would rather stay at the door. It should be hostess to know in advance who is entering, so to avoid disappointment.”

Sans hummed despondent. “You know that’s not so, King Asgore. You've never been a stranger to us, let alone for her.”

Yet that kind of smile on Asgore’s face reminded him that sort of smugness that a comedian has before making a sensational surprise.

On the other hand, Frisk did not like that kind of refusal. She could not bear to see him so distant anymore. She climbed down with extraordinary agility from Papyrus’ scruff using the breastplate as a support, and ran toward Asgore.

But Sans barred her the passage. He understood, as soon as he glimpsed into a small hole in the mantle, something like a reflection. Typical of a human eye, excited no less.

Frisk was annoyed by that no doubt, but a reassuring head nod from the King and the conspiratorial smiles of those two, seemed to be enough to stop her short.

“Heh.” Sans shrugged. “I’m pretty sure there will be a bunch of guests for dinner tonight.”

He turned his back to Asgore and headed for the stairs. As he put his foot on the first step, he turned to Frisk, loud and clear. "I'll go call Toriel, so kiddo, do me just a little favor: wait and relax. We are in for a surprise."

And before the ceiling could hide him from view, he winked to Asgore, who thanked him labially, waiting with his children hidden compacted and a little uncomfortable under his wide mantle.

"Um, I think I missed something," Papyrus said bashfully as he approached very slowly from behind the sullen Frisk, and bent down to hold her shoulders. "What kind of surprise is it?"

"Hmm." Asgore stood thinking. "Gosh, I think I can tell you. I am here on behalf of no less than Santa Claus!"

At those words Papyrus and Frisk put their hands to their faces with emotion. "SANTA CLAUS?! But... it is spring! Is he working overtime?"

"Oh no no! You see, since he never managed to reach Toriel’s house, when he learned that we all left the Underground, he was sorry of neglecting her all this time. As chance would have it, we met right in the Underground, and so, instead of keeping her waiting until next Christmas, he gave me a nice shipment of presents as a way of relieving the debt."

"Are you serious?" Papyrus said, dazed by that story. "But this is just great! What an honest gentleman he is!"

He softened him so much that Asgore’s eyes mellowed. "Well, in a sense."

"And where are the presents?!"

"Golly, this is a surprise. Do not you agree?"

"Oh right."

"Ah and Frisk," Asgore turned his attention to his little daughter, who looked at him like he was the greatest of heroes. "I assure you, this gift is also and above all yours."

Frisk was struck with amazement, and a little cry slipped out from the mouth. Then she did what made Asgore waver when he clashed with her: she opened the eyes, of a dark amber light. Invaluable as the gem of the same name, a time sweet juice of those conifers around Ebott and now solid and transparent stone, old as a geological era, where even the lowliest insect there enmeshed, reached the eternity of jewels.

How to resist then, after even just one of those looks?

Asgore craved surpassingly to hug her after nearly a month's absence, but instead he returned to attention, rescued by the creaking of the wooden steps, and then by her unmistakable voice, deeper and heavier after all that lived inclemency, but still maternal despite the years, whose each word for him is like a note, set into an unmissable composition performed only once, and never again.

"Asgore? Is it really you?” Toriel asked anxiously, unable to glimpse him yet. But he could see her, donning a white and green ergonomic trekking suit, ready to leave to go find him, confirming the expectations he had on her.

"It is me, Toriel. I am here."

"Thank goodness, at last I hear your voice!" she said, relieved. As she approached, however, her face was anything but serene. "Oh my, you are so worn out! What kind of remote place you have been hiding?! You had me so worried, especially the way you left!"

"You are right, and I am sorry. I just needed… a break."

"A break wearing your full armor?!" Toriel could not avoid injecting some anger in those words.

They now stood facing each other, the doorframe the only wall separating them between those two worlds.

"Come on Asgore, I am not so gullible. This is one of two things: you decided either to attempt a feat out of the blue, or to let yourself die like some ancient monarch, with metal sprinkled with your dust."

The King sighed, caught in the act. "The second you said."

"See!" Toriel put her hands on the hips, frowning with annoyance. "I thank the fact that you have not followed through with it. You think that is sensible to let yourself die, now that we have a semblance of life before us?!"

"I will not deny that that was the intention," he said with a sly smile, preferring her reproaches a thousand times, the only one that had the resolve to stand up to him. "But! So many things have happened in the meantime, I ended up doing the first alternative. And as you can see I came back almost unscathed."

And she wagged in front of his nose a finger of reproach. "In addition you came with perfect timing, while I have not seen you for a month! Sometimes you act so impulsive that... umpf! You look childish!"

The thing sounded so true to Asgore, that a laugh nearly escaped. But the others were taking it quite seriously.

Frisk had her hands folded right on the mouth, shaking her head several times. Papyrus made his gaze jump from one head to another every few words. And Sans, who for once put aside his own humor, tried to smooth the waters. "Toriel, don’t be so hard on him. I won’t blame him not even a second, because the past is really hard to put aside. But according to what he says, looks like he managed just fine."

"I know Asgore, Sans," she said confidently, smiling bitterly. "I do not doubt his good faith, but I indeed blame his sense of defeat. He is the strongest, sweetest and most determined monster I know. Besides, I myself have put him in front of a choice, and he remained faithful to his decision until the end. But as of late it seems he have lost himself along the way, and cannot find it to come back home."

Toriel came out of the house, in order to lower her voice and infuse softness and apprehension in it. "Why were you so rash? Sometimes so am I, but that’s no reason to want not what is good for you. If it makes you feel bad, just stop wanting to stay away from me. I personally… do not hate you and I never hated you.”

She looked at him puffing with unease and, trying to hide it and fail, smiling shyly and idyllically, as only a brokenhearted lover can do. “At best, I hate only your way of doing politics."

She held out her hands to find his, but he did not relent. "Wait."

It was not so much the request, but the radiance with which he said it, that held her back speechless.

"First I have to say something," he continued, so happy in the face that he embarrassed her. "Or, rather, show something."

She saw his hands under his cape, holding tight its hems.

Toriel giggled. "Is it something I should worry about?"

"Worry? Whyever, when I would rather say this is quite amazing?”

Asgore joined her laughter with his own, and then he whispered, so only she could hear. "This is my Christmas present for you. Definitely ahead of time you will think, but for me it is in blameworthy delay."

And slowly but firmly, he pushed the hems aside. Like curtains swinging open, before the start of a new and majestic theatrical play.

[Reunited - Orchestral Cover](https://youtu.be/sHENgW71EhU?t=6s)

"SURPRISE!" was the cry of the six humans with one voice, whose sound was late to arrive inside Toriel’s ears, when she saw them come out from under the cape.

The sound of familiar voices was only the first sensation to run over her, followed by the confused scent of assorted flowers that masked the pungent smell of aged bandages, and the immediate touch of their hands encircling waist and chest, and their cheeks’ briny taste that, jumping in the heat, rubbed up onto her mouth.

And last, that the sight struggled to draw in such unreasonable context, was the dazzling image of unkempt faces that she recognized one by one, overwhelming her mind with a start, as if it were the culmination of a hallucination in all five senses, so intense that she fell on her bottom, with them on her.

For a moment she forgot how to articulate words, spontaneously embracing them with an emotion never felt, of whom has found again someone of incalculable worth after years of loss, six times. Its sprung sobs struck dumb what she sought to utter, to greet those humans that lived under her roof and that went beyond the gates in search of any solution for that exile, never to return. Those humans that, even if only for brief lapses of time, reminded her that she was a mother.

She thought she was touching with her fingers their very souls, pulsing tunefully and wild along with her heart, giving themselves the strength for her to say: "Children... my little ones, my beloved children..."

And she burst into tears, her head nestled in between theirs and the bundle of flowers they brought with them, and she little cared if the crowns of petals brushed the snout, because no fragrance was ever so pleasant.

"Hey!" Vérane exclaimed after nuzzling Toriel’s nose. "Someone is missing!"

"That’s right!” Sophie gave her sister a high five. "It must be taken care of!"

Franco looked around, jokingly. " _Vero_! _Unn'è_?! _Unn'è_?!"

"Bro! No one’s understanding what are you saying!" Fion poked him, laughing until he cried.

" _Miii_ , you’re right! Just far too excited," he replied, and pulled himself together. "Ahem, where is she?!"

"There she is!" Jebediah said enthusiastic, pointing to the sought-after while holding Yukiko, who waved her disordered bouquet of flowers greeting her.

There she was, the savior and ambassador of monsters, totally shocked, stunned to see those stranger faces whose Determination resonated with her own. And that moved her deeply and tremendously.

Toriel, laughing and now resigned to sit on the floor, stretched out her arms for her. Frisk just jumped in on the verge of tears, embracing as many necks as possible with the tender sweetness of a little sister, who has just discovered to have an army of siblings.

She felt again their affection, when she roused them from Flowey’s vines, calling for help. She recognized the voices, when they yelled together that they would have saved the entire Underground. They reminded her of Asriel, in the desperate effort to free him from captivity to the extent of gushing forgotten emotions, making their separation on Chara’s flowery bed even more painful, when she hoped to take him away with her.

Even the two skeletons participated in the reunion in their own way: Papyrus simply went into ecstasies, embracing the first thing closer to him, which was Sans, who inert went along with his brother’s fit of innocence, dangling in his arms and doing his best to exult by waving lazily his arms.

And then, there was Asgore.

"Toriel."

She stirred only after hearing the voice of her former husband, fixating on the wrinkling corners of his eyes. "Asgore! All of this is amazing, marvelous, wonderful! I just cannot understand how..."

"There is someone else who wants to say hello."

The humans knew everything already. Smiling and nodding with knowing glances to their foster mother, confused beyond belief, they left her on her knees and Frisk on her lap, and moved inside the house, amidst the general surprise.

Asgore knelt in turn. "This whole idea of the surprise was his and... well, he is a bit shy. But you know that as much as me."

He looked behind him and stretched out his hand to grab a stone vase containing a luxuriant Golden Flower, and put it to the side of the doorstep.

"A flower?" she said, curious.

"Yes, a precious Golden Flower. But there is also someone else. The one blessing you yourself bestowed me once upon a time. And that now I bring back to you again."

He looked back a second time, and winked to the fluffy pumpkin hiding bashful, instilling courage to him.

With one hand he clutched his father’s mantle, with the other his chest. And with a surge of Determination, he came out in the open.

"Howdy Mom. Howdy Frisk," he said slowly with insecurity, and overawed.

After moments of embarrassment he laid eyes on them, wincing object of his love, close by just inches. Such sight turned untenable and, taken by emotion, ran towards them, spread his arms to catch them both, burying his head in the big ears of his mother.

The both of them now just doubted their eyes. If what they just experienced was at odds with common sense, there they saw impossibility itself upsetting all grips on reality.

Toriel’s heart was simply pierced. Because she felt with that simple contact, the welded again bond between a monster mother and her child, the kind of pain able to soothe itself. So again ironically, this time truly sweet, he was her coup de grace.

What she knew was lost forever, a rueful and venerable acceptance, now cracked and flaked apart exactly like his foregone form, ascended and fallen in their arms as a pile of dust. Fairy dust, scented of Golden Flowers, that reassembled and solid crept into her hands, undisrupted and consolidated fabric now laughing, embracing and kissing her, over and over again.

Sobs returned compelling, even more uncontrollable and unrestrained, as she was by now at the limit of will and understanding, hugging him in turn, and resting her head on his, and feeling his soft fur, as sentiment encroached on physical level.

And about Frisk, Asriel was able to bring out something even within her.

He raised his head away from his mother’s shoulder and, faltering, sought Frisk’s eyes, while she just grasped his arms, looking at him as lost in a dream.

This time was her joy to be far too much to bear, filled to the brim and overflowing with tears, the same rapture that unlocked her vocal cords in that one time, when she uttered something, her name to him, only to return to oblivion.

"ASRIEL!" was the loud word poured from the chest, extorted after prolonged silences.

She lunged at him, holding him as never before, anticipating his every possible reaction.

"ASRIEL! ASRIEL! ASRIEL!" she repeated between weeping and sobs to the only friend she thought she failed to save and left alone, unaware of being one of the main reasons that led him to risk, and that she fervently wished to have as a brother.

Words failed Asriel, teardrops again in his dreamy eyes, reembraced by Toriel, who did not want to break away, cradling them softly and wordlessly.

For in fact the words to be spent were too many, far too many that none were expressed, but his name, spoken by Frisk’s small voice, hoarse and broken from crying initially and little by little limpid and faint, hitting the bystanders like a train.

"I have to stop promising myself to stop crying, it’s no darn use!" Fion began to weep like a fountain, snuggling under big sister Sophie’s arm, the only one who kept emotions at bay better, and still barely, woe to her unleashing the gathering of all the others.

"Guys, you’re crushing me. As if it’s not enough that they are just killing me inside."

Franco gave up. "Can’t take this, too many memories! Can’t take this...” he said almost comically, failing to look further, so much so that he set out in search of a less crowded place, such as Papyrus, so surprised, excited and confused, that feared he had lost his jaw somewhere.

And then there was Sans, happy in his own way and still not overwhelmed by emotions. "A master stroke," he said with a whisper of a voice, addressing a finger gun to Asgore, that other person who observed demure at the scene.

"Asgore..." the King heard his name called, by the warm and deep voice of Toriel. “Asgore... you want me to die from happiness."

She lifted the head to look at him, fulfilled beyond imagination. "I was not prepared for any of this."

"Me neither, Toriel. Me neither,” he replied, still wondering over and over how the idea of happiness managed to find such an embodiment. “And it happened anyway, along with the most unlikely of concepts."

"Yup!" Asriel wiggled the tip of his snout with excitement. “So many and powerful hope leftovers remained there for me! There was hope for me too!”

Who else if not him, could speak of hope?

Asgore simply smiled. "For there has always been." And in his heart, he made his choice.

Frisk and Asriel, meanwhile, between grimaces of utter embarrassment, realized that they had perhaps exaggerated in keeping Toriel in that uncomfortable position, and so they helped her up and accompanied her hand in hand inside the house.

Even Papyrus seemed to have recovered, and broke the ice with the most sensible thing of all. "I, the great Papyrus, have been farsighted! I was right to buy all those spaghetti for dinner!"

A flash pierced Franco’s mind. "Spaghetti? You said spaghetti?"

"Human! Indeed I said it, and I hope you will appreciate my cooking!"

The boy planted himself in front of him ecstatic. "You speak my language _compà_! Hug me!"

"NYEH? Do you mean that…"

"You bet! I think this is the beginning of a profound friendship!"

Papyrus was struck. "Oh no! Best friends continue to increase! How can I keep up with it! NYEEEH!"

"That’s not so difficult!" Franco replied secure and grinning like a brother in arms. "It's like cooking, you just have to add an extra seat at the table! Come on _compà_ , it will be fun!"

A flame was kindled in the eyes of Papyrus, like some kind of Determination. "WELL ENOUGH THEN, HUMAN! IT WILL BE AN HONOR TO NURTURE THIS FRIENDSHIP ON STOVES! AND…” – he looked at him with curious naivety – “WHAT IS THIS “COMPÀ” YOU SPEAK OF?"

"I think we should start all over with the basics here."

"Heh," Sans could not help himself. “I expected that from Paps. He’s just jumping out of his skin.”

“Please, make him stop!”

Sans shrugged, as usual, and put his arms around the shoulders of the remaining humans like a social butterfly. "We’ll have a chance to get to know each other. For starters, here’s my timeless: you should put some meat on those bones."

Jebediah knitted his brows amused. "Like the way you do, right Sans?"

"Sure. I am the pun, kiddo," he said winking to his new and expanded laughing audience.

"Ah, but we will make it right immediately!" Toriel chirped all caught up with excitement. "You will eat your fill, you will sleep like a log, and we will go to the woods and to the beach and for a walk in the Capital... and above all you will go to school! And we will get the house set up, so we can all lie comfortably on the couch and in warm beds. And we will surround ourselves with a beautiful garden, right Asgore?"

She turned towards the door, looking for him outside.

But Asgore was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The wind was beating no stronger than a limp waft, its dragging force made weak, reclaimed only when pulled by his mouthfuls, capturing the scent of fields and their recall, a last time he decided to enjoy to the fullest.

"I know I have broken their heart again."

He marched decisive, with a lightness that seemed to make him fly, like a shadow running away at sunrise. But while his vanished, the others increased as Earth headed, serene and unmindful of his tracks, towards the nocturnal rest.

"But it is better this way, because I cannot have it. I do not deserve it."

Yet, there were no malevolent entities to distort his vision. Neither had he tried to paint what was around him with the colors of death.

"They found themselves anew, and resumed their lives in their pockets. They conquered happiness, and I have found mine, knowing they are safe and loved, banishing my other centuries-old companion, sordid and instinctual commiseration. There is again a person that they will call mother, who not even remotely caused them harm. And therefore, there will never be a place for me among them."

He smiled. "Because deep down, once removed the veneer of a good King, lover of his people, I am just a monster, one of many. Who made too many mistakes on top of that, whatever people may say. Then, what else can I offer them, if not the resigned belief that Earth spins in one direction, and I in another?"

With neutral cadence he chanted in words the thoughts, used to convince the decision so outspoken to sound irrevocable, with his sight fixed on the top of the approaching mountain, lapped by the dirty yellow reflection of the waning sun.

"Ah Ioreon, blind optimist in your incurable realism!" he said as he gazed, and laughed at the idea of how many staff beatings he had in store so to make him desist. "What you told me is indeed sweet and reassuring, but you should know: I tore those last white pages."

The thick ruff of Ebott welcomed him back into its rustling womb fallen silent, so surreal for him to hear only his voice and walk.

"As you reasonably say that were the circumstances to force us, I am the product of my own decisions. But we can settle this, by ascertaining the absurd communion of these two parts: I am, well and simply, nothing but a sage murderer."

The forest soared, the slope grew wavy and bumpy, steep as it seized the sides of the mountain.

"Dear friend, who thought any given moment the right one to support me lest I would fall in defeat, stubborn to justify me when looking at your own abstruse and unparalleled existence! Rightfully I should call you my brother, with the same horrible past behind, made of death sentences and perjuries, durance and helplessness, compelled by the coils of fate in what we abhorred, whelmed by an unquenchable guilt."

His arms stretched out, he climbed between trees and wall, going up the lost route of exile.

"May it be this the reason you stayed behind? Just a little more under Ebott’s shade, because fog still shrouds the horizon? Perhaps that, and how much would pain me if that’s the case, you saw a happy ending for everyone, except for you? Why should not it be my fate also? It will be, shared with your own, the only one who bore what the depths of evil imposed.”

The world was slowly dying away under the last rays of sun, turned into a lukewarm dusk.

"Legends say that those who climb the mountain never return. My children debunked them, my heroes! But in my case it remains true, bound to this world of mine, the only one spinning like me, mad and unrecognizable but still mine. Defunct Kingdom of the King of the Mountain, Red Trident, Protector of Monsterkind. Died along with it and its Barrier. Here, where no one will set foot ever again."

He fled at dawn, he returned at twilight. He savored the déjà-vu aiming at the sun, and crossed Ebott’s threshold.

But then... he heard a rarefied voice calling his name. There he stopped with a frisson.

"ASGORE DREEMURR!" The voice came from behind him, fatigued and panting. "Where do you think you are going?!"

"Toriel?"

"Toriel! That's right!" she said, leaning breathless against the wall. "Just look at what I have got to do!"

"How did you know I was here?" he said in surprise, yet in a voice still neutral, irritating her even more.

"Papyurs was kind enough to tell me that most likely you would come back here to warn Santa Claus that the gift was a success. Changing me at least was useful, am I right, Santa?"

"Gosh. I would say that I talked too much."

"Not enough! You have a plethora of explaining to do, and beyond this you should tell me what is going through your head!" She returned to stand and deal with him face to face at the same eye level. “You managed to infuriate me even after the greatest gift a father can give to a mother!"

Asgore sighed, a ghost of a smile on the lips, but they did not unclose.

Toriel sought her composure, breathing deeply. "So? Are you not saying anything?"

"No. There is nothing to say," he replied melancholic, and turned back toward the entrance.

"Drat, are you kidding me?! Are you trying to stir me to pity with this charade?! You are trying to make me feel guilty because I left you?!"

He did not flinch in the least unlike her, nor did he turn towards her, except for the head. Toriel saw them again, fixed on her, after one month. Eyes dipped in a steely conviction that she had not seen in centuries, enough to shake her to the core.

"I understand your desire to attack me. But no, I do not seek your pity, Toriel. I do not want anyone's pity. I only do that for which I swore, and which has severed all our ties. The intention to make peace with you is accomplished, and I accept the separation."

"Asgore..." His voice firmness and apathy, an oxymoron to the ears, made her tremble. "What are you talking about?"

He lowered his head. "This out here is your world, not mine."

Albeit clear, the sky seemed to be riven by his speech like lightning. "Who am I to be with them, incapable to protect but rather to kill them? I committed the opposite of what I am, and I cannot go back. I cannot move on."

"Asgore do not-" she paused.

[Undertale Piano Concerto - An Ending](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMSLYwHNMBc)

Her heart danced obstinately. She could not feel indifferent about him anymore, hurrying her pace until she could reach that so detested mountain. She ached to hold him from go any further, tugging at his hands. That got on her nerves to such an extent that she wanted to slap him, chide him like a little boy and throw her arms around his neck just a while later.

But the pain of her own broken heart, even though faded, forced her to not move a step. "You do not think seriously of leaving the surface to hide in there..."

Nothing seemed to faze him. "What choice do I have Toriel? How could they love their murderer? How can you even tolerate a murderer as a husband? It is true what you said: a miserable creature, far from being innocent and unwitting victim of the situation that has not invoked his own morals. I failed miserably, and will carry out what was laid down nevertheless."

Those words stung like needles. "Heavens, I feel sick..."

She finally came up to him further, down to his shoulders. "Please, wait. Do not run away. Not like I did. Please."

"Why did you come here?" he replied abruptly.

"Because of you! Who else would be?!"

"Why did you come?" he repeated, looking for any comforting answer, however awry would be in her disturbed voice.

"Asgore, I... Whatever reason are you looking for? Should I not have?"

"I did not that time, and I regret it, because-"

"Because you could not. You could never have come after me. Because the price would have been too high. I know, I understand. But I could not stand it, because it transformed you."

"You had every reason to do it, I am aware of your difficult choice, the fruit of my fault. And for this transformation, behold, it is so late now, that I cannot find another place to call home, there where my last hopes remained."

"ASGORE! Do you listen yourself when you talk?!" she shouted in exasperation. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to them?!"

Her calls fell on deaf ears. He would not turn around. "Live your life in the warmth of affections, and once again let me go, so that disgust will not smear it. Farewell!"

"NO! Do not ever say that, even in fun!"

"TORIEL!" - he clawed at the mountain rock, nicking it - "Away from this door, away from these stones, recalling memories and only more blood! Don’t get near them and forget all of this, so I’ll vanish with it too!"

Toriel could no longer keep from crying, too many conflicting emotions in such a short time. "You idiot! I still love you! And... I love you even more now," she said, her voice breaking with tears, leaning her head on his mantle, feeling on the forehead the hard and cold metal.

"So I want what is good for you, and that’s not in there. Regret will consume you and make you crumble, eating at your heart for how horrible the past had been. But you cannot chain yourself to it, for the days go by and life as well, and changes, rejuvenates, becomes lush and gorgeous. Why sprinkle your Golden Flowers with your dust, like our son?"

He did not move.

"Asgore, we can put things right, we can assuage past choices, we can turn over a new leaf whenever we want, and sing like crazy with our children that there is more than shadows. There is the sun, that makes them flee, and enriches all things. There is forgiveness, that transmutes the saddest of memories in a supportive pillar. There is love, that breaks down every obstacle… That the depths of evil imposed, just as you said that time...”

Asgore flinched as he listened to her. But he still had not the strength to turn back.

The thought of having to go back to where they started, unsure of how far he had to for choosing the alternative, the new road, long and unknown, gripped him.

Troubled by the two faces of Time staring down at the present, split between the past and the future, caught by an eternal conflict enervating body and soul, with its pain consuming that lasting image of their blissful visages.

He found strength again, just to raise his head and look yonder, into the abyss that spread before him, never felt rapt to such an extent, losing his way in that ancestral darkness.

Yet, he saw at the bottom of the tunnel two flickering flames.

Two atavic lights in the dark, the fires of the great unknown, last remnant of the shimmering Barrier.

His promise now turned heavy on him, booming in the hollow. A lump in his throat forbade him to look further beyond.

But then a faint breath of wind coming from there, where the world eclipsed in a stone room, touched his face, and pushed it forcefully back.

For just one small step backward. Enough to encourage him to look upon his former wife in tears.

The answer he had longed for was resting on his back. If even the Barrier absurdly resurrected, he certainly could do the same.

“Enough with the past,” he whispered shattered, at last. The light at the end of the tunnel, he made it his own.

He turned and embraced his wife, holding strongly her warm body against him. “Hush, my dew of pastures. Foolish as I am, I even went so far as force you to exchange roles, and push the reason of my existence to come all the way here. And that I risk to lose because of another choice.”

Toriel hugged him silently.

“Once a friend told me that I would not shed bitter tears anymore. Even more so, I will not let them stain your face,” he said, and she hugged him more strongly.

He kissed her on her head. “I savored your every word. They have convinced me. Dry your tears, and let’s come back home, together.”

The sun, which stubbornly refused to go down, lit up her tears with a last ray, and fell. And under that sky dyed orange, where the first stars began to shine, they moved away from the entrance, still shaken, but without letting go.

Those two dim lights, at the bottom of the past, did the same, now that there was nothing to observe, but the slight breath of wind was still blowing.

It seemed to croon.

And although imperceptible, it sounded halcyon.

 

"So Love beheld the all-consuming Time

And laugh'd, knowing that requir’d it not.

It cozen’d the tyrant with move simple yet bright:

To feign death for just a day, it had opt,

Unconcern’d with laws whereto abide;

Hidden, from pudor grief and flesh ire,

It flourish’d again at jaded eventide,

Torching the grey and soundless absence mire.

In heart’s corner it slept, craving a caress,

Crumbling hours and ages into nullity,

As Time sought through torment to suppress,

Sunk in oblivion its face and verity.

But then the jaunt, ne’er leaving Love return’d;

And thus, whilst Time lorn hath died, Love remain’d."

 

So he said, and laughed, laughed artful and happy, while the beat of the staff on the floor was hushing, fading amidst the now weary shadows of Ebott, behind that corner of the world.

There, where even the impossible became certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, ‘tis finisht!  
> This story has literally stonkered me.  
> In retrospect I think I was just too violent, but when one feels rotten inside, whether rightly or wrongly, it usually ends like this.  
> But begone with my sentimentalization now!
> 
> All right then, this concludes the first act of a long (hopefully) series.  
> I will not burden the epilogue with more author’s notes, so if you feel like it, you can read them in the last ““chapter””, which will be posted as soon as possible. Let’s say it is what has gone on behind the scenes, but I warn you that it’s long and boring stuff.  
> Prior to that, expect a last backstory, a foreshadowing glimpse, because I cannot just settle for a single story indeed. There are too many things left unsaid.  
> Wishing to conclude this first step, I hope you enjoyed it. I even grew fond of it.  
> Eventually you will make me know with some review/comments. Criticism is always well accepted.  
> As a deserving conclusion, let's put a befitting closing music!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=920AGBgKl14 (Undertale - Undertale Cover (Orchestal))
> 
> ;-)


	13. A Presage

"I’faith! All is well that endeth well!” Ioreon exclaimed with utmost satisfaction as he moved more and more gracefully to reach the Throne Room. “There are only a few things to do, wherefrom proceed with the second phase. Albeit able no more to protect them behind an imprisoning embrace, I shall pave the way for a viable future."

A beat of the staff on the floor and it was gone. Drops of water began to drip from the ceiling, irrigating the garden.

"Mayhap a best time to flee the Underground existeth not, but every exile is by nature taxing and unlivable, thus I disbelieve they could take the strain for a century more. We must act in accord with the historical moment and its offerings."

As two separate points on a sheet are joined by folding it in two, the spirit passed from the green expanse to the metal one of the CORE. A red light flashed on all corridors due to the overheating alarm of generators, the noise of sirens on the overflowing condensers was earsplitting, steam escaped from the saturated pipes, because the flow of magma was still filling the separators. But he moved forward unperturbed.

"Forsooth, now that the seven humans are with them, the grounds for monsters shall grow more solid in human eyes. Since the monarchs of monsters love them as their children, this would knead further in their favor the opinions of society as a whole, easing a condescending integration. Pockets of resistance shall dwindle and fall forlorn, but this is not enough. ‘Tis urgent to temper skepticism and kindle trust."

He accessed the controls of the CORE nerve center, interrupted the flow of magma, put full power to the relief vents and finally deactivated the CORE. No one would have appreciated the explosion of a geothermal plant, and with it Mount Ebott like some sort of eruption, after such a high overload of power.

"Until we meet again, when thou shalt serve me once more. Provided thou shan't fall apart before time."

Another leap and he silently hovered, almost incensing the circumstances in his wake, towards Chara’s Mausoleum.

"Here we are, now that all the world's tides seem to come to a halt," he whispered to the wind. "Somewhat unusual that the object thou wisht to destroy hath become the caretaker of thy grave. Seest thou how a powerful and non-understood prison, can reveal itself chang’d in shape and intent, in spite of its creators? Who in sooth I condemn not, for their will vivify mine, whilst I bear our common repentance, its bitter taste in what now feed me."

He exuded liquid nectar from his hands, gently watering the flowers of the grave.

"Thy death spar’d not other lives, for nevertheless was the murder of six humans to open the Barrier. Here is the blemish, having to kill to save themselves from this Underground, a small world that thinn’d the kin of monsters in a few thousand units, bled white without the contact with the magic of Aeon. Indeed, I have not lost count of how many souls I devour’d to sustain the Barrier, and their numbers wan’d much than in the early days."

He withdrew his hand. "But things shall improve. Monsterkind shall find in the person of the two reunited sovereigns their warrantors, to whom even the human leaders shall have to bow diplomatically. And then there is thy brother Asriel, alliance of monster magic and human Determination, who as such shall advocate well-founded covenants. He shall grow strong, enough to consolidate himself at the seams with the ocean of feelings never spent, enclos’d in that soul a time asleep, and pain’d. I, certain that the Symphony hath work’d, ween that joy shan’t be drown’d out by other mourning. For ‘tis joy that nourisheth monsters, the one they can receive and give. For they are born to love."

He stepped back so he could see it in all its height. He stood off in contemplation.

[Undertale - Respite - Orchestral](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGk7g4VsgpU)

"I rue the day of thy suffering Chara. My mind shan’t abandon thee, sad blossom’d anemone and hence next to die. Thou shalt remain my biggest distress, which still eludeth me, and unsettleth me. For that cry for help, derisive or authentic, shattereth this moment yet so perfect."

With another step back, he returned to the Hotlands, at the mound of the buried Amalgamate.

"Cloak’d with good intentions thou let thine heart be contaminated, so much so that unabasht hatred for men trespass’d on the boundaries of death itself. An ominous coincidence before these creatures, surviv’d experimentally and confus’d in their own identities, struggling with their common mind to make them emerge."

He gave a brief envoy to the dead, and went to the lab.

"What once thou wert hath pass’d, but the depravity, that I still wonder to what depended, hath manifested thee. Unreasonable, like the last years of this Underground, when the countless quantum fluctuations began, where I accumulated and releas'd dust ad libitum to regenerate the fallen monsters, even ones I never expected to see fading away."

The doors swung open without a squeak.

"In the subtle contours between the immanent and the transcendent, they were shrewd in their ambiguity, where truth mix’d to uncertainty and deception, forasmuch as an enemy never revealeth his intentions, and if he doth ‘tis to mislead. Thus they confuse my reasoning, scatter the evidences at my disposal, that I realize are just miserable feelings, so that I cannot ken them beyond that baleful impiety, contrary to life and reason."

With hands behind his back, his head surrounded by a thousand thoughts, he walked into the elevator shaft. The magnetic tracks of the EM tether circuit were unusable without the CORE energy to fuel them, but Ioreon did not care. He did not require elevators to know the path to the True Laboratory.

"Bethinking it, they clamber’d onto her dead body, they bound to her soul so to not disperse the weak grip on the world and be stranded in Hyperuranion shores. It contrasteth with the sudden emanation that hid itself for centuries and show’d up suddenly, as if they concocted to be found, certain that we would have attack'd them eventually, in order not to compromise the mending of the fallen humans."

Even more breakable and dilapidated appeared the Laboratory, even more a vague memory of what it was without the necessary maintenance after accelerated years of wear. The ceiling would probably collapse sooner or later, bent in several places by overlying magmatic and telluric events.

"Eager to be releas’d then. And even unleasht, something at all extempore but eternal, above the harness of space and time... which can be the irrepressible will of a deceas’d, who perchance instill’d life moments in a reliable vessel to urge them to move. And try multiple endings."

He did not walk, but his thoughtful transit was enough to echo throughout the walls. "Why indeed seek a vessel? What they tried to induce in Frisk’s mind? LOVE can be the necessary and sufficient reason? Yet I ween that an oversimplification because, if the eighth, the Determin’d, would have consecrated herself to them and brought everything back for remorse of having kill'd everyone, and only then open the Barrier, they could aspire to much more: evil would have walk’d on Earth."

He turned from one corridor corner to another, heading for a wing known to him.

"I have fear. I have fear if what we fought is to be her mind, twisted after centuries of non-life, suggesting the search for contingency to overcome every plane of existence. I shan’t rest until I have found out about it, even if I have to scour along the Boundary, within the Hyperuranion if necessary. Because if I were not to find it, someone much worse than a craz'd mind with the thirst for power made their move."

He slowed down. "That fiend, with all the appearance of an aberrant embryo. I wish I have more certainty of vision, mayhap I would have scrutinis’d more clearly behind the hidden eyes of a faceless skull, their blind fury."

He stopped in front of a door, dilapidated as much as the others. So special that had not been mapped.

As if it had been forgotten.

He opened it, now as then.

"I feel oblig’d to let thee hark my concerns. Thou art not deaf from thine unique position, as it stopped thee not to communicate with the eighth and with us."

There was no one in there. The room was empty like the first time they entered.

A different and rather evident particular was the extended jumble of symbols, written with a black liquid that looked like thick ink, smeared on the front wall. Although at first glance they appeared messy, they followed precise lines, like letters in a sentence, gathered to form a message.

* I wandered far and near in places too recondite for the mind to conceive, losing all track of time, but it seems that you are just as capable of making similar strides. I saw you perceiving my presence, even though completely obliterated from existence to a miscalculation. And that is reassuring.

* It seems that, when two forces over the tracery of space and time collide, the same forces that were in balance of this Undertale, the fabric of reality comes apart at its seams. I therefore believe I am closer to the exit, I just need a little more time and a light beyond the breach.

* I rely on your complicity, Hierophant of the Barrier.

Written in the tongue of the man who speaks in hands, who lost himself in existence, who now with an eye sees the Matter, and with the other the Aether.

“Thou hast not stinted on writing along thy way out, slowly escaping the utterdark limbo of the Boundary. Peradventure thanks to thee, we can come to grips with it, Sir Gaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Duel of Notions has begun.  
> In the beginning “A Presage” had to be part of the epilogue, but it was getting too long and so... it works better as an anticipation.  
> Yep, I didn’t forgot Gaster (he was foretold with some clues in some chapters). He who lived in the borders of that boundary, between concrete and abstract, will play a leading role in the unfolding of the plot.  
> The parts, and the whole. ;-)  
> I have just this feeling that Toby Fox will soon announce all Gaster’s secrets, and the whole idea in my head will go up in smoke. But that's okay.  
> I salute you for the second time, with a goodbye and not a farewell, looking forward to see you for what will come.  
> As I said earlier, for more details concerning this first milestone, but only if you feel like to read them, I address you to the author notes, that is the next and last chapter.  
> See you soon, and thanks a lot for reading all the way up here!


	14. A (personal) author note

Dear readers,

So you decided to bore yourselves with the rantings of a visionary madman? But well enough, be my guests!

When you’ll finish reading, you’ll think of me: "Are you crazy?!"

Maybe I am, but if we have to do something, let's do it and make it right!

 

It was an interesting experience, my first attempt actually in fanfiction.

Rereading it, I realized that some blooper fell behind, but overall I am satisfied with the work (at least for me, a non-native English speaker).

I did not even think that I would be pushed to write, but Undertale proposes such deep characters with great potential, that I would be sad by not taking advantage of it. However, by the looks of it, I couldn’t help but shower its spontaneous and minimalist style with too much dramatic charge. Perhaps I am giving it just too much importance, but I believe in the transforming power of human creativity in producing new concepts on the basis of an existing plot (as you see this game stole my heart and I’m still searching for it).

You know, since it’s my first try, allow me some pride for it!

While everyone is struggling with the various characters of Undertale, I fell back on the unfortunately neglected Asgore: on one hand an easygoing King (without playing down it because this is what makes him really adorable), and on the other a monster afflicted by this cumbersome decision/duty that destroyed his life.

He is a figure terribly similar to the sovereigns of Shakespeare’s tragedies, and among them comes to mind King Lear, on whose example I outlined in part my interpretation. But on the contrary of him, he doesn’t die brokenhearted while holding her dead daughter Cordelia, but he is reborn with a filled heart with his family (after putting to rest in peace this poor daughter that is Chara).

Since he didn’t have the time that was devoted to the characterization of all the other characters, Asgore suffered the stigma of hasty judgments (as if Toriel’s resentment was not enough). A King annihilated in the face of responsibility, it’s not a trivial matter that can be overcome in a generic and clichéd manner. Accompanied by the revived Barrier, however, he has succeeded to get over it, and slowly came out of the darkness of the cave. Of course, I too find unreal having all humans to life again, or that Asriel’s soul survived inside that of Chara, but why not?

Now, just let me elaborate a thought that to some of you won’t probably appeal.

The views that run on the topic about the need for such an edict, the obvious repercussions for two pacifist like Asgore and Toriel, as well as the emotional zeal caused by the killing of the two Princes of the Underground, I find them deficient and unsatisfactory.

Internal and especially foreign policy do not work through handshakes, kisses and hugs and pats on the back. In the end, may it be right or wrong, it was wise to wait because the hatred between the two races had not dozed off, and it is not Boss Monsters that had to show that humans are capable of good, but a human, precisely. Frisk obviously managed better than their foster siblings (I cannot rule out that the six humans have some dead on their conscience). Frisk was convincing because Determined to be so.

It was a good time to take risks and escape the Underground, given that Frisk came? Maybe, but I should remind you that they could also commit a genocide, and this depends on us. If we are the mirror of human society, would it be wise to let them leave the Underground, beyond the safeguard of the Barrier, especially if bloodlust did not extinguish even over centuries?

Well, it would certainly make sense for Asgore and Toriel to say clearly that it is better to live under Mt. Ebott, but who says that there are no monsters, who aren’t free of fear and anger and sense of justice (that could result in revenge), compelled to create factions and oppose the forced do-goodism, and rather conquer the surface? Even in certain endings, if we killed several people and Toriel ascends the throne, she is exiled just after she proposes a change of policy. If monsterkind so far hadn’t objected the King for his decision, I think they agreed with it.

You know, “no one is without fault”.

Since I am unconventional, I believe also that a loving, spousal relationship can be restored. In fact, Asgore and Toriel retain the habits that saw them absorbed with. The ones that come to mind are: Asgore who tries in vain to reproduce the Cinnamon-Butterscotch Pie recipe while Toriel fills her house with Golden Flowers and still continue to cook his favorite pie (despite the player’s decision in choosing one flavor over the other).

Here Asgore broke the ice blatantly bringing the whole gang of children, but then it was Toriel to take the lead, as she went herself to look for him up to the Underground entrance. Okay, I cannot say that this is an act of great love, but at least of concern for his conditions. Both their personalities were exacerbated by the death of Chara and Asriel, and it will take time before they can normalize, now that all their tension is exhausted thanks to the breakout. So, I am sorry SORIEL, but I side with ASRIEL in this.

Speaking of which, I indeed chose to give a chance to Asriel, for a number of reasons.

First, his state do softened me up, and the idea to abandon him in the solitude of the Underground was rather heavy. Toby Fox will never agree with me on this! :-)

Second, with a twist, Asriel received new life, but this came only after his maturation as Flowey. By the mouth of Ioreon, even if he cannot feel anything, he can make feel others (he ticked me off for example). So, you could hate the fact that you won’t feel anything, and although you will never savor that warmth, you yourself will become its source for others. This is the message, and after his decision, a reward was bestowed.

Mind you, I was battling with myself on this, but this story has taken on too many dramatic connotations. After all, the True Pacifist is the best of all possible endings.

Not to mention that, in addition to Asgore’s magic (the physicality medium) and his human brothers and sisters’ Determination (the stabilizing needlework), Ioreon emptied all of his own magic reserve hoarded for centuries. So, Asriel has been recreated with the very Hopes and the Dreams of monsters. How does that song go again?

Indeed, something sensational can come up from this decision, which hold some peculiar surprises.

 

That was my way to recompose the Dreemurr family again. Now, just a thought towards Ioreon.

He is an odd character. I gave birth to this weird idea of restoring dignity to the most powerful and unconscious element of the game, but fashioned in this way: an ordeal turned into a life force that seeks to correct the evil in a more or less veiled way, he who knows but prefers to keep hidden, an emblem of the past that resists but that also transforms itself... Yep, this is something absurd.

His origins are consistent with my subdivision of the planes of existence and the magic system, as well as the energo-material flows (or space-time if you prefer) of Undertale, but perhaps we might end up encompassing the philosophical. As Shakespeare would say, he is "such stuff as dreams are made on". If you're curious though, I can write about him somewhere, albeit I have not the faintest idea where to put it.

For his creation I was very inspired by Gandalf of "The Lord of the Rings" (other than an energetic old man, he is a Maia, an angelic force of Arda), and by the idea of Undertale characters portrayed in tarot cards, which is why I chose for him the Hierophant, the holder of sacredness and wisdom, but in principle known as the guardian of Mystery secrets. I wanted to make him quite overwrought, intrusive and manipulative (within a certain extent of course), a thing that he sometimes does reluctantly. In fact, he embraced a mountain, so the sense of pervasiveness and control has not abandoned him.

By the way, his name is an anagram. What comes out is a further indication of his symbolism (there’s just an E at the end of the name by variety of language, but you can still guess it easily).

 

In effect, I always wanted to create a history laden with symbolism. This one in particular I could say has at least three interpretations.

One, the obvious: this is a classic adventurous journey, half fantasy and alas not so action-packed (except towards the end), complete with a clichéd villain (but I use clichés for my own ends) and the rescue of several princes and princesses.

Two, the metaphorical: this is a journey especially with Asgore in mind, as suggested by the chapters’ titles. He re-appropriated those virtues which gradually wore out after killing (directly or indirectly) the six humans. In this trip, undertaken in reverse compared with that of the humans and Frisk, he recovered those virtues so highly expressed by them, culminating in their resurrection.

He sealed his success with the reconciliation with his wife Toriel, and above all with the overcoming of the past that he was determined to behold until the end, when he was finally able to take his eyes off of it, and gaze upon the future (his wife and his children, in essence). And when I said he would have come to terms with his past, Ioreon could not be a better choice. He himself is precisely the past of all of them that however prompts them to look ahead.

And three, the metaphysical: this is a revival (with a novel twist) of the Platonic fable. Well, I saw it as a real clash of notions, represented by Asgore, symbol of Agapè (love seen as the sacrifice for others at the expense of oneself) and Ioreon, an idea himself, symbol of stoic detachment and pragmatism, against Chara/demon, symbol of chaos of instincts, murderous madness and irrational fear (although their herald is far from mindless, but in fact cold and calculating).

 

Finally, why I have chosen as the title of the story 'Once Loved, Always Loved'?

First of all it sounds good (okay, I’m joking).

In fairness, this is somewhat the life story of Asgore and Toriel. It applies to both because I saw in them a sincere love that has suffered a harsh blow, but that has all the prerogatives to fortify again. It’s as if, under the ashes of these consumed lives, remained embers which, if fed, can return to kindle. In short, infatuation is discovered while love is built, and if it is such, it has a solid foundation from which start up again.

More in line with the theme, the title is the love that the two had and have for their children, biological and adoptive. Toriel cared for the humans in life, because they all supposedly bumped into her house, while Asgore retains their souls and since they can hear, (attention: headcanon) through paternal instinct he entertained them according to what he felt was the right thing to do.

Asgore embarked on this journey, but not for him, that is washing away guilt and making peace with his soul. That’s only a side effect. It was for this simple reason, having loved them and loving them still, with his fatherly fondness soaked with their innocent blood, whose only crime was falling into Ebott. Everything revolved around this, once loved, always loved, all the way up to the beyond repair body of Chara, giving her his last respects.

That’s why he decided to leave, but this time is no longer for the fear of what he might do, because it is a fact that he would not even be able to touch one hair of their heads, he could not even relate to such an impulse. Something else battles its way up, a resignation that however is not so bitter, because he knows that that household where he is a father belongs to a world that it’s not his own, because he feels alienated. He changed inside.

When one grow so far apart, cradling his own disillusionment and getting acquainted with blood, it is an absolutely natural thing to consider himself different, to become a stranger to himself. A visible scar, which one will eventually get used and fortunately end up forgetting, only to discover it on himself just by accident.

This is the theme of change, the turmoil of what one had lived up to that moment, an improvement of habits in every respect. Eventually the flight was a spontaneous reaction, really introspective, which that great woman that is Toriel helped to defog.

I have never seen Asgore as a coward or a weakling, but as a defeated husband and a father, by now a close friend of that sordid terror of losing his loved ones. What I tried to convey, was a gesture of exaggerated altruism on his part that however, in the long run, becomes selfish, and we can certainly define it wrong, because he could be considered, rightly, their maximum safeguard along with Toriel.

Yet that’s the consequence of having to move on, and in a sense it was Toriel to save him, finally putting in place with him centuries of dormant feelings and cornering with her love that despair, from which he struggled to free himself without ever succeeding.

The coup de grace was Ioreon. Symbolically it’s a very strong message, even though things were pretty much settled already. He needed just a little push outward. :-)

 

Okay now, deep breath.

That’s the stuff. The story ended up complicated _despite everything_. I found quite useful for better sifting through this chaos in the background several entries of the blog “Undertale Science”, since it’s quite analytical when it comes to some of the more or less ambiguous facts of Undertale.

This means it’s over? No it isn’t, just because I prefer to raise more questions than answers. I still have many other symbolisms and strangeness to display.

About the life of the extended Dreemurr family, Ioreon’s reluctance to countless questions, the fate of Gaster and that of Chara/demon of the flowerbed… I have many ideas on the future in my head. It is likely that this thing will become quite long.

In my intentions, this story was meant as a stepping-stone for what would come next. A lot of repercussions shall branch out from this adventure for things done well and for things done bad, according to good or bad intentions, and so on. Where everyone will be a protagonist, a star of his own kind.

I take this opportunity to examine in depth the world of Hyperuranion, to which the magic system hooks in its own peculiar way. I think of it as biphasic, because the game suggests that there are substantial differences between the magic of men and monsters. I will explore moreover the interactions of these two kins, in a society very different from our own, virtually a Medieval-futuristic one (but not overly sci-fi). In fact, given the technological levels that monsters have achieved, in part by exploiting human inventions turned up inside the Garbage Dump somehow (in a fantasy world, everything is possible), maybe we are far ahead of the 2000s, maybe fifty years later. I am already thinking about the juicy possibilities of a not-too-distant future after some political and sociological overturning.

I'm still undecided to proceed directly to the second act or structure a sort of interlude.

In this latter case, I suppose that the best way to describe it would be a collection of slices of life, where to add little by little details of the world in which they live, and this time within a lively and sunny world, with few moments to get depressed, and where I will not rule out emotional moments or sentimental situations (sometimes complicated and wholehearted but never overly corny). It will be for the most part a light reading, with few or no hidden meanings (I feel responsible for your mental struggles), although none of them will be in its own right but following a common thread, where more intense points will not fail to point out the evolution of the plot, to which the second act will follow. As you know the policy of a state, with external pressure and internal conflicts, coupled with its intrigues worthy of Renaissance courts, has never been an easy matter.

It means more work for me, and I have no idea when I'll put an end to it, but indeed I need some lightness amid this overwhelming seriousness.

Literally we will turn away from the context that we have come to know, and this is inevitable, but I know how much you care about the Underground people, and therefore I won’t distort the characters, but elaborate them with their strengths and weaknesses as realistically as possible thanks to the information we have, as I hope I managed to do so far.

The plot… well, let's say I'll do my utmost to prevent it from doing flights of fancy and keep it in a reasonable track, without excluding however that it will turns out a gargantuan speculation of post-Undertale facts, designed to settle in said plot.

Because, in fact, the most difficult issue is precisely Chara.

Since I have to remain consistent with the ontological system of my own creation, Chara died for good. Having been brought out of the Barrier, its "immortalizing" effects were no longer there to shield them, and so nature took its course. In effect, their lifeless body was able to pass through with Asriel, and this might strengthen my concept of the Barrier as a prison of souls, which remain bound to it when within.

However, I have also several theories about them, leading me to make that “eldritch” choice. They are mostly driven by my skepticism on their actual role as a human child in their scary appearance in Undertale as a whole.

They were supposed to simply fade away as the Underground lost all its importance. After all, they said it was Frisk’s Determination to awaken them, in that small universal pocket that is the Underground. By playing on the possibility that their soul survived, it opens much larger scenarios.

Even if I find the use of Heaven and Hell as extremely appealing (something that I wrote might hint that), the reality of things that I am tinkering is more... earthbound. Philosophical at most.

These are the kind of questions I wondered about:

  1. Does Chara have awakened thanks to Frisk, by virtue of the peculiar world of Undertale, or there's something more?
  2. How can a child know so much of the post-mortem possibility of a human soul merged with that of a monster, and their power when acting in tune?
  3. Can we exclude that Chara themselves transcended to a "demonic" state, dispensing the need of that luggage that is body, mind and soul, because they were reborn into something else?



 

Maybe yet, there are obscure reasons to which only the ideas of Hyperuranion can answer. Here's explained in fact my use of ‘they’, which means that the matter has become more complex.

I have many plans for Chara. I would not make them (or her) appear and disappear carelessly. Indeed I am conscious that we, the players, are Chara or maybe the ones corrupting Chara with our violent Determination, and… okay, that’s enough for now, or else I’ll say too much.

Their memory now repose, but indeed I am not done with them yet. The demon still comes when people call its name.

 

Well. I may get embroiled in a bigger project than me, but I think that Undertale deserves one or two hours a day of world-building.

 

My oh my, I sure have to explain what kind of stuff is this Hyperuranion. I tell you this: do not take it as a dimension exclusive to this story, or just another mundane plane, one of countless enactments of the multiverse, or whatever. In fact, to help you unravel this mess in my mind, we can apply its concept now.

Every thought, conjecture, art or fanfiction (even mine), woven upon the plot of Undertale, are an ideal projection in this realm (a sort of utopia of a writer, since we do not know the real intentions of Toby Fox). The more they are nurtured, the more they thrive and acquire a life of their own.  With this small contribution, I wanted to get myself in the game.

That’s also why I am sure this story will be appreciated only by a few people. A practical reason is that the combination Asgore/Flowey/Chara/OC it’s a tough one, and almost nobody would consider it. I can’t even put interesting aspects of the story or the epilogue in front-page because I would only spoil the surprise.

I also think that the problem is its themes, light years away from casual ones, nowadays the most popular trend (without detracting anything from this genre).

Seeing more views in the first chapter than throughout the rest of the story, it is a sign that people just lose interest in it. I can understand that, in fact the first few chapters don’t seem so exciting even to me. Of course, I wouldn’t dream of forcing someone to read it, that’s obvious.

You few (“we happy few!”, lol), have in fact given me the strength to finish this first step in the meantime, from which could follow something that will be… I will not say addictive, but pleasant at the very least.

 

Why do I say this? Let’s face it: if the work of art, no matter how repulsive, is not kept alive and perpetuated by its audience, what is a painter, a sculptor or a poet?

Once finished their stroll, they collapse and wait for their toll. Fate of those who begin and already end, bloom and after a moment fade. Fate of those who only for a few hours fly, hoping for a round of applause, and then die.

Yep, I am overdramatic, and I like to be so! Also because this is a good excuse for me to read your stories too, guys. Verily, ideas have to be fed, lest they die (literally).

I hope that you’ve been fascinated by the story while reading it, as I was enraptured in writing it.

Thank you for your kind attention and your support for now, with the hope that the sequel would not be too long to wait.

 _Ave atque Vale_.

 

Hunter of Eridanus, out.


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